Chapter Text
Standing on the curb this late at night in the cold made you feel like a 2 dollar hooker.
But of course you had no other choice as your uber was running late and you were too intoxicated to drive anywhere. You’d had a long week, and frankly you wanted nothing more than to just lie in bed with your favorite brown liquor and curse the day you became an adult. But of course your friends wouldn’t let that happen. So when word got out that Jennifer Lawrence was having a huge birthday party, there’s no way they’d let you miss it. They mean well, and you’re grateful to them, but you’re also fucking exhausted. You hold a herbal cigarette between your index and middle finger, searching through your purse for a light. You’re too health conscious to smoke real ones, despite the fact that you down copious amount of alcohol on the weekends.
Ah yes, there’s definitely time for a quick smoke since that ubers not coming anytime soon. You shuffle through your purse for minutes, coming up with nothing. You release a frustrated sigh.
Your pothead bestie must’ve stolen it again . Fucking scag.
Just when you’re about to curse the earth once again a hand reaches out and offers you a light. You lean over and accept the light, lifting your eyes to meet a pair of blue ones staring back.
And there he was.
You haven’t known him very long, but the encounters you’ve had with him consistently left you non-plussed.
Which was odd, because you were both a lot alike in some ways. Even though he’s definitely way richer and much more established in his career at that point, it’s a wonder why you’re friends. Well—-friendsly.
He just….could be a bit much for you at times. Too frustrating, too emotional, too destructive.
Up until you met him things had been simple, easy, but of course wherever he went trouble followed. You were going to try your dam-nest to not get swept up in it.
“Is that a herbal cigarette?” He asks casually, leaning forward to take a closer look. “You know those don’t really do anything right?”
You roll your eyes, “Haven’t you ever heard of the placebo effect?” You say, feigning annoyance in hopes that he’d leave you alone.
He tilts his head and regards your statement, “Does the placebo effect even work if you know about it?”
“I don’t know John, I’m not a fucking scientist!”
He holds his hands up in surrender, half laughing, “Hey, my bad, I’m just saying. There’s some flaws in the logic of these things.”
“You’re just overthinking them.” you say, leaning back against the brick wall behind you.
“Like I do everything.” he agrees. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s cold.”
You take another puff before answering, “Waiting for my uber, my social battery is low.” He nods in understanding and leans on his side against the brick wall next to you, “Do you mind if I wait with you?”
“It might be a minute, you know how traffic gets out here.” you say, not wanting to take up his time.
He shrugs, “I don’t mind, besides I need a breather from being in there anyway.”
He’s standing a bit close to you & you try to ignore the heat radiating off of his body, no matter how good it feels against the cold. His blue eyes are still looking you over & you refuse to make eye contact, out of stubbornness or shyness, you’re not sure which.
You’re only wearing a short black party dress and a cardigan, and his gaze makes you feel a bit warm. Though in your head you try to convince yourself it’s just the alcohol.
The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before he speaks. “Did you get the part in Dune you were trying out for?”
You’re surprised he remembers that, surely he’d have a million other things on his mind than you. “I sure did, they’re announcing it next Thursday.”
“I guess blowing the casting director does wonders?” he jokes.
“Oh no, I auditioned like everyone else and got the role, the blow job was just complimentary.” you say back, keeping up the joke. You both smile a bit before you clear your throat, “Nah, seriously though I am really excited about it. “
“Good, I’m happy for you.” he says, making direct eye contact with you. His eyes have a way of doing something to you, making you feel a way that’s almost impossible to describe, but you shake it off and smile, “Thank you.”
It’s silent again for a moment, and he speaks again.
“You know, we never finished our game of Marry, Fuck, Kill back on set. I specifically remember you running when I asked about Henry Jacobsen, Ted Cruz, and Tom Hanks.”
“Because that’s not a fair question at all! How am I supposed to choose between those?”
“That’s the point! It’s supposed to be hard!”
You groan and he smiles. “Here, let me make it easy for you,” he continues with a hint of mischief in his eyes , “Marry, Fuck, Kill. Bill Hader, Pete Davidson, John Mulaney.”
You roll your eyes. Of course he’d do that, wearing that goofy smile on his face. You know what he wants you to say, but you’re not going to tell him what he wants to hear.
“I’d marry Bill, Fuck Pete, and Kill you.”
He gives you an incredulous look before responding, “I’m more worried that you’d fuck Pete Davidson than I am about you killing me.”
You scrunch up your nose, “What’s wrong with that? He’s an attractive man!”
“Yeah, if you like Chlamydia.”
“Oh stop, he does not have Chlamydia!”
He doesn’t say anything, he just raises his eyebrows at you and you resist the urge to laugh because it’s probably true.
“I mean, what’s a lil Chlamydia anyway? Take some antibiotics & you’ll be better in the morning.”
“Oh my god!” he laughs at your ridiculousness.
“I’m kidding! I don’t want Chlamydia in any form.”
“Well then you should reconsider your choices.” he says, practically staring into your soul as you put out your herbal cigarette with your foot.
“Those things don’t do shit. Don’t you want a drug that’ll make you feel something? You ever try coke?” he asks casually, almost like he’s asking about the weather.
Well that’s an alarming question, but you attempt to stay calm.
“No, I’ve never worked on SNL.” You joke, but he doesn’t smile.
“No, I’m serious.”
You look over at him and he’s wearing an uneasy look, casually leaning against the wall with a hand in his pocket.
“No. It’s not my thing, you know that.” you reply, his line of questioning makes you nervous. “Is this a red flag? Should I call someone? Your sponsor? Your wife?”
He grimaces a bit at the last bit, “No. I’m sober I swear. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”
“You need to call someone equipped to help you, you know someone who actually knows about addiction and stuff.”
You’re worried about him, but you also can’t help the bit of annoyance creeping up on you. You need to draw a boundary between the two of you.
“I just feel safer talking to you is all, like old times. Everything with the wife and the baby—“
“You know, I’m not your emotional support blowup doll, you can’t just dump you feelings on me, have sex with me, then leave me with fuck all. If you want advice pay me or call a therapist, because I have enough of my own issues.” You interrupt, positively annoyed at this point.
This is why you can’t deal with him. His mind games and constant emotional manipulation drove you fucking crazy. He’s done this time & time again, dumping his trauma on your back, and when he gets his shit together leaves you high and dry. You had no problem with one night stands, but something about him made it much harder for you to let him go & he took advantage of that.
“You know I’ve met so many guys like you before. You have that awkward cool guy image you present to people, you use it to sell tickets. And that’s fine, whatever it’s show business. But you never show up when it matters. You don’t stand for anything really, & all you do is manipulate those around you. You’re just as bad, if not worse than the rest of us.”
He looks taken aback a bit, probably surprised that you’re standing up for your self so adamantly. He has a half smile painted across his lips and he looks directly at you.
“If you’re so critical of me, why did you sleep with me the first time? I must have something you like?”
“Don’t flatter yourself too much, I was bored and you were available, I just wanted a One Night Stand! Do you know what that phrase means? One? As in Singular! Uno! One night only! Instead I keep getting stuck in whatever this,” you gesture wildly with your hands, “is.”
“We’re friends, and I do care about you.” he reassures, his blue eyes staring into yours , “and yeah it was one night but it was way more than one time.” he jokes.
You roll your eyes, “You’re missing the point. You’re damn near 40 years old, I’m 23 and I’m standing here begging you to grow up and fucking—-
You’re suddenly cut off by his lips crashing into yours. It’s a hard kiss, yet still nice, and for a split second you catch yourself wanting more. It almost reminds you of the times in his trailer on set, and in his hotel room. Hot, fast, and passionate. With his arms around your waist he pulls you closer into him, his warm body almost flush against yours, when you pull away, planting your hands against his chest. That only makes him hold you tighter, his lips still firmly attached to yours. You push harder this time and he finally lets go backing away from you a bit.
Before you can think you slap him hard across the face.
“Fuck!” He exclaims holding his now sore cheek. “You hit hard as fuck!”
“And I’d do it again.”
“I deserved that. I’m sorry.” he apologizes.
“You should be.” you sigh.
Your anger is starting to wane, and you’re just feeling tired at this point. Your phone buzzes, letting you know your car has arrived.
“Go home John.” You sigh. “Tell your wife you love her, kiss your baby on the head, and for the love of god don’t do cocaine.”
You begin to walk towards your car, ignoring the weak feeling in your knees, when he says from behind you, “You look beautiful tonight by the way!”
Without turning around, you flip him off and get in your car, leaving him caressing his already swollen cheek.
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