It's amazing how just a few random events can turn things into the perfect shit storm. Under normal circumstances, my roommates would have been home when I arrived and, between the three of us, we would have probably psyched each other out and blown the whole damn thing off in favor of going out for pizza. Not that we're allergic to fine women or anti-social or anything, but I have no doubt the whole “too good to be true” aspect of it all would have come up and realistic heads would have prevailed.

Well, either that or we would have all been enticed by the possibility of some prime pussy and the three of us would now be lying around, kind of dead. I’d give it a fifty/fifty shot of either scenario occurring and, since I'm not a complete asshole, I guess in the end only one of us biting the big one is better than our families having to throw a triple funeral.

Regardless, none of that came to pass. Tom was at his family's house for the day. Ed must have taken a break and gone out for a bite to eat because he wasn't home, either. That left me. Just great. I knew that, with no real voice of reason to turn to, I'd be left alone with my own thoughts. The problem was the voice in my head that typically reasoned with me pretty much sounded like a harsher amalgam of my two roommates. Where they might have decided on a different course of action for the evening, I knew that if I considered for even a second not going to this party, I'd have to contend with my own subconscious mercilessly assaulting me for being a pansy-ass loser with questionable sexual orientation.

Oh, well. At the time, I figured the worst-case scenario was that I'd be out a few bucks for train fare. At least I would have killed a few hours that otherwise would’ve been wasted on some online raid with my guild brothers. A definite night of World of Warcraft versus the slight chance of hooking up with some chick straight from the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog? Millions of people played the Powerball lottery each week with much worse odds. So ultimately I figured, why the hell not?

I nuked myself a couple of pieces of chicken (no point in heading toward probable disappointment hungry) and then proceeded to clean myself up, figuring simple was best. I wouldn't even know what to wear to look cool in the Village, so instead opted for business casual. That was usually a safe way to go when in doubt. I was just winging it here. It might not be the coolest attire, but at least I wouldn't look scummy. Hopefully Sally wasn't one of those chicks who was into dating dirt bags.

Speaking of which ... was this really a date? Sure, the word had come up, but the truth was I had no idea. Hell, I wasn't even sure I'd give her a ten percent chance of being there, so worrying about it being a date or not seemed to be getting a little ahead of myself. Ooh, Sally and a little head. Now there's a possibility I could get behind. Anyhow...

I got myself together as best as I could. I wasn’t a male model by any stretch of the imagination, but not exactly pre-Subway Jared-looking, either. It'd do. I grabbed my keys and wallet (stuffing an emergency twenty into one of my socks ... momma didn't raise a complete fool), then stepped out to meet my fate ... literally, as it turns out.

♦ ♦ ♦

Saturday night trains were a lot like rush hour trains. People were in a hurry to get where they're going and, for the most part, stayed out of each other’s way. Even the homeless mostly seemed to understand this, and the onslaught of panhandling decreased a bit during these times. After all, getting in front of a determined person headed from point A to point B was a good way to get trampled. As a result, it was an easy ride on the N train to the stop closest to my destination. It let me off about five short blocks from where I was headed, which I was able to walk with no problem.

In retrospect, the whole trip was a little underwhelming. If Hollywood has taught me anything, it's that fateful journeys like these were supposed to be filled with foreshadowing. It should have been storming outside, but it was crystal clear. I should have been accosted by at least one semi-crazed, but mysteriously wizened stranger on the train, warning me of doom, but instead I managed to snag a seat, and nobody even batted an eye in my direction.

For Christ’s sake, the address I was given should have been some popular, but inexplicably creepy, nightclub with a non-subtle name like Type-O, or maybe The Blud Room, but no. Instead, the main floor of the building was a fairly nondescript bar. Loud and full, but not packed, and certainly not crawling with creeps that were practically screaming, “Come in here and we'll drain your ass dry.” It figured. The world couldn’t even deliver me clichés correctly.

My instructions were to use the side door and walk up to the third floor. I pressed the buzzer and was immediately let in. There was no challenge of “Who dares trespass?” No hulking bouncer opened the door, only to give me an evil smirk to let me know I was fresh meat. It was just a stairwell. Jeez!

As I climbed, the sounds changed slightly. The techno-rock music from the first floor was fairly muted by the time I reached the second floor landing. As I continued upward a different techno beat slowly drowned it out. This was SoHo, after all.

Oh, by the way, in case you had forgotten from earlier ... fuck SoHo!

Now, where was I? Yeah, yeah, still a fucking corpse, but I'm getting back to that. I'm still doing the whole life flashing before my eyes bit ... although it's odd that the majority of the flashback seems to only be from the last twelve hours, but whatever. It’s not like I was an expert in the rules of the afterlife, at least not yet.

Reaching the third floor, the source of the new music, I knocked ... and knocked again ... and then knocked a third time. Didn't these guys buzz me in just a few minutes earlier? I was about to turn around and leave – visions of Sally and her friends (hot friends no doubt ... and while we're on this fantasy, let's say hot nude friends) standing there and laughing at my idiocy, going through my not-surprised-in-the-least mind – when finally the door opened.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

If this were a trashy romance novel, I'm sure the guy standing in the doorway would be described to the rapidly moistening female reader by his perfect hair, dazzling eyes, and bulging muscles. However, here in the real world, guys like me tended to see dudes like him and automatically assumed one thing about them: that they were, in all likelihood, complete asshole douchebags.

“What?” Douchebag asked in a bored tone. All right, at least one cliché was holding true tonight. He looked me over as if I were something unpleasant he had stepped in.

“Sally invited me.” I tried to sound equally as bored as I replied to this fellow who looked uncomfortably like some of the jocks who’d handed me ass-kickings back in high school. At this, though, his demeanor noticeably changed. He straightened up and adopted an easy smile. Sure, he still looked like a douche, but at least now he was a douche who was acting ... err... less douchey.

“Cool. Come on in,” he said, opening the door wider and letting out more of the insufferable techno crap that was playing. “Sorry about the attitude, buddy. Never know who's knocking. Gotta watch out for the narcs.”

Narcs? What was this, 1985? “No prob,” I answered, following him in. “Bill.”

“Huh?” Obviously he was already losing interest in me.

“I said my name is Bill.” I held out my hand.

“Oh. That's cool,” he answered, leaving my gesture of friendship dangling there. “Sally's around here somewhere. Just chill and she'll find you.” He turned away, seemingly toward more interesting fare.

Douchebag or not, I can't say I really blamed him. Once I was dismissed, I took a second to look around. Hmm, it was an interesting place. Kinda had a retro feel to it. Not that it was very surprising, considering what part of the city I was in. Every place in this area either was trying to be cutting-edge hip or latching onto some past decade like it was coming back into style. This place had a definite “groovy” vibe to it, minus maybe the music that was playing.

As for the partygoers ... whoa ... the partygoers. Damn! The only parties I’d ever seen that looked even remotely like this were all on TV. Every chick could have passed for a swimsuit model, and I doubted any of the guys benched under two-fifty. I tried not to gawk as my brain attempted to process exactly when I had left reality and wandered onto the set of Gossip Girl. Forget the decor – they could have decorated the place as a Black Plague death pit and it wouldn't have mattered one iota.

I was starting to become acutely aware of how much I didn't fit in when I noticed a similarly out-of-place fellow off in a corner being chatted up by a tasty redhead. He was about ten years older than me, nearly bald, and looked like he'd be more at home at an accountants’ convention. Not that I had any right to judge, but it felt good to know there was at least one other person here who I'd stack up pretty well against. Sorry, but maybe it's a guy thing. Whenever there were women around, the whole Bros before Hoes concept went right out the window and I started checking out the situation to see who was higher and lower than me on the food chain, so to speak.

Regardless, he was also the only person in sight that I was not immediately intimidated by. I was thinking about heading over and introducing myself as the only other “normal” guy here when I began to notice that I wasn't. Scattered throughout the crowd were more sore thumbs, guys much closer to geek than chic on the social scale, all being kept company by women way out of their (our) league. Damn, I thought, they must either all be rich or have huge dicks. But that still didn't answer what I was doing here. I do okay, but I'm definitely not rich, and I don't have a huge dick. Err, that is, there's nothing wrong with the size of my dick ... really! I mean, sure I'm not John Holmes, but things below the belt are just fine, thank you very much.

Okay, time to get off my dick ... unless you looked like one of the babes at this party. Ah, anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah. While I was lost in this reverie of finances and dongs, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Giving my head a quick shake to clear it, I turned around only to be stunned again. There stood Sally. Holy shit! She was wearing a little green strapless dress, and, well ... holy shit.

“You came,” she said. (Not yet, but pretty close, considering how she looked). “I wasn't sure you would. A part of me was hoping you...” she paused, sounding a little uncertain and maybe even ... a little sad.

“Hoping I would...?” I tried to get her to finish the thought.

“It doesn't matter. You're here. That’s the important thing.” Whatever made her pause a second ago was now gone. Maybe I had just been imagining it.

“Yeah. I made it. You look great, by the way,” I stammered back, absolutely certain I sounded like a complete social retard.

“Thanks. As I was saying, I wasn't sure you'd actually show up. You sounded a bit nervous on the train.”

“I wasn't,” I blatantly lied. “You just caught me by surprise.”

She ignored the obviousness of my untruth. “Cool. Let me show you around.” She hooked her arm around mine (more physical contact!) and gave me the tour. Turns out the apartment occupied the entire floor of the building. It was a fairly open floor plan, but not quite a studio. I doubted there are too many slumlords who wouldn't have drooled at the chance to get their hands on it. A few subdivisions and a landlord could retire to the Caribbean on the rent alone.

“Whose place is this?” I absently asked as we walked.

“I live here.”

Goddamn! Hot and rich. Yep, even had I not believed it before, I could now say with all certainty that life was definitely not fair.

“This is your place?” I asked somewhat incredulously.

“Technically it's Jeff's place. (Jeff? Yeah, it was too good to be true), but a bunch of us share it.” (A bunch? Okay, there's still hope.)

“Who's Jeff?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could, hoping to be steered in the direction of someone obviously gay, or at least one of the other average dudes in the room.

Sadly, she pointed directly at my douchebag acquaintance from earlier. Figures. Can't say I was overly surprised. On the other hand, it's not like he was the only scenery in the room. All things considered, douchebag aside, the entire experience was slowly turning out to be a positive.

“We've met,” I replied neutrally. “How do you two know each other?” I tried to sound as disinterested as possible.

“That's not important right now. Let's not worry about him. You're here with me. Let's mingle before the festivities get started.” She led me toward an open bar in one corner of the room.

“Festivities?” I asked, trying not to be distracted by thoughts of hot chicks and free drinks.

“You'll see. The night is still young.”

Okay. Whatever that meant. Hey, who knows? Maybe this was one of those parties that culminated in a wild orgy at the end of the night. A guy I knew in college claimed to have been at one of those. Personally, I thought he was full of shit, but since it sounded better than any of my stories, I kept my mouth shut. Besides, I needed someone to live vicariously through, bullshit or not.

And so we mingled for a while. What I mean, of course, is that she mingled, while I was content to devour my fill of eye candy, of which there was plenty. The problem with candy, though, is if you eat too much, you're asking for trouble.