I was proud to say that I had hardly thought about Massimo all day and the few times that I had felt myself slipping, I was always quick to catch myself.
The mantra helped.
Massimo Mancini is a dickhead, and it’s his loss for not calling me back. Spineless, lying dickhead. The dick wasn’t even that good anyway.
Some of it was true, and some of it I added to make myself feel better. But it was working, and that was all that mattered. Every time I felt the urge to check my phone to see if he had replied in case the notification failed to come through for some strange reason, I repeated the mantra and not even a few moments later, I was able to go back to working on some of the assignments that I had been handed this week, as well as a test for one of my classes next week.
Of course, there was still the journalism assignment from Professor Lockhart that I was still yet to start on, but as there remained more than three weeks for Rizwan and I to acquire some exclusive information from the Mancini’s or their lawyer – preferably the latter since I didn’t want to see Massimo ever again – I pushed it to the back of my mind.
When the alarm on my phone went off at six to indicate that it was time for me to stop studying and to start getting ready, I closed my books and laptop and ventured out of the room.
The first thing on the list of how to look like a bad bitch tonight was to take a shower. But before that, I needed a shot of vodka. After a whole day of studying and working hard at my desk, I certainly deserved it.
And besides, it was never too early for pre-drinks.
“Isn’t it too early for that?” Luciana chuckled from where she had set up desk at our small two-person dining table, working hard at her laptop. If there was a person that I knew who worked harder than me, it was Luciana. The girl would be a great doctor, nurse, or whatever else she wanted to be.
“In my country, it’s never too early for vodka,” I grinned and tilted the bottle in her direction, offering her a shot.
Luciana shook her head and laughed. “Your country?” she snorted. “As far as I’m aware, you were born not even an hour from here.”
“That’s just a technicality,” I grinned, and contemplated whether I should go for a single or double shot glass. On one hand, there would be plenty to drink tonight, and I probably needed to line my stomach with food, not more alcohol but on the other hand, there could never be too much vodka. “I may have been born here, but I am a full-blooded Russian, and that includes drinking vodka at any and all times of the day. Frankly, I would say that I’ve been lacking in that department lately.”
Vodka came with the territory of growing up in a Russian household with Russian parents. My brothers started off drinking early at home, probably earlier than most American teens. Around ten or eleven, they started off with sips and small glasses of wine or beer at special occasions. By their early teens, this had upgraded to doing a shot on Christmas and birthdays with our parents. By sixteen or seventeen, they had developed a great tolerance of alcohol, and I wasn’t too far to follow.
And over the years, I had built up a great tolerance to alcohol too – at the age of fifteen. Perhaps far too great a tolerance as it took me much more than those around me to get drunk, and even more to feel it the next day.
While we couldn’t drink outside or at parties – not that that had ever stopped us, of course – I drank regularly at home with my parents and brothers. Usually a beer or two, and sometimes even a glass of wine during dinner.
That was the way it had been with my parents, and they had passed on the customs to me and my brothers. And I hoped to do the same with my future children…but perhaps eighteen would be more appropriate than fifteen.
“And you plan to make up for it all today?” she joked.
“Yes, I do, actually,” I grinned before downing the double shot which I eventually decided for. Instead of burning, the string was gentle and welcome, almost akin to the slight ting from a mint candy. “Do you want to join us?” I asked. “Tia and Nala will be there.” Ethan would also be there. Rizwan wouldn’t as parties weren’t much his scene. However, if we went out for food after the party and shot him a text, eight times out of then, he would join us.
“It sounds really tempting but I’ve actually got a hot date this evening,” Luciana grinned and closed her laptop. “But invite me to the next house party and I’ll drag Tony with me. I doubt it’ll take much convincing.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I grinned and excused myself, needing to get ready for the evening. It was nearly half six and I was supposed to be meeting the group in about an hour. It would be tight, and I would no doubt be late, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they told me an earlier time than when they intended to show up themselves.
The objective today was to look like a bad bitch. A bad bitch that got all the boys – no, men.
Today was day number four without a return text from Massimo Mancini and frankly, I was beyond caring anymore. Honestly, it was his loss. Or rather, that was what I kept telling myself.
While a bad bitch could get all the men she wanted, this bad bitch was content with just one. And hopefully, whoever he was, I would find him at the party. Since Luciana always slept over at Tony’s after their date night’s, I was safe to bring him back here.
After my shower, a quick trifle through my wardrobe produced a little black milkmaid dress I had yet to wear. The top was tight around my chest and the sleeves short, puffy and somewhat sheer in a very delicate way. It synched in at the waist before finishing in a flowy skirt which looked like it danced around me with my every movement, stopping about an inch and a half under my ass. The length of the skirt would have been risky if I wasn’t pairing it with a pair of sheer, checked tights.
The outfits was tied together with a pair of heeled boots, a dainty gold necklace with a sun pendant, and a pair of asymmetrical gold star and moon hoop earring. To combat the chilly October wind, I opted for an oversized teddy coat.
By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, I had downed another double shot. That made me four shots up and frankly, I was feeling great.
But one glance down at my phone to reveal zero Instagram notifications had me feeling not so great in the short span of a second. Even though I was trying to not let it get to me, I was still upset over the fact that Massimo hadn’t texted me back.
And deep down, I knew going out of my way to find someone to sleep with tonight in hopes of flushing all thoughts of Massimo out of my system weren’t particularly healthy, but me waiting around all day for any sort of attention from wasn’t healthy either.
Besides, one way to get over a man was to get under another one. And what better place to do that than at a college party?
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Layla Knight
27.01.2022
