ROSÉ

The car ride was silent as we rode in the back of an Uber, and I could tell that both me and Layla were drunk out of our minds.
I had called us an Uber considering neither of us could walk straight, let alone drive home ourselves, so I opted to leave her car there just until tomorrow morning.

The city's lights of New York were bright and buzzing as they whizzed past my car door window, making the lights become streams.

People were still out on the streets, standing in lines for clubs, wandering aimlessly with their date for that night. New York truly was the city that never sleeps, and as drunk as I was, I couldn't seem to either.

The Uber drove to Layla's house, seeing that I was in no shape to go home and face my mother and younger sister this way. Layla lived alone with her mother, who was out on a business trip in Los Angeles for the next week or so, promoting her plans to create a joint contract for some architecture buildings.

Layla, being her, had planned ahead, somehow knowing that we were going to get this drunk that I would not be able to go home like this, so she told my mom that I was sleeping over at her house for the night, obviously studying for our final exams in a few weeks.

If only that were the truth, maybe my life would be a bit simpler at this moment.

There's no way I could ever look my mother in the eye after I just went to a male strip club, drank my ass off, and had a good lap dance by my teacher who happened to be closer to my age than most believed.

The night's events all came rolling back, playing in my drunken mind through flashes.

The way Mr. Styles rolled his hips as he grounded against the floor. The way he stuck his tongue out with a wink. The way he stared at me with those piercing emerald eyes while I sat in the chair at his mercy, as if he were communicating the lyrics of the song to me.
The way he guided my hands down his chest towards his—

I was jerked away from my drunken thoughts at the stop of the car, making me look out the window to see the familiar neighborhood that me and Layla lived in.

I turned to nudge Layla lazily off my shoulder, her mouth open as she snored. Her makeup all smudged and slightly sweaty from the night of constant dancing.

"Wake up." I whispered, "We're at your place, let's go."

It took a while, but I managed to get us both out of the Uber. We somehow stumbled our way and somehow got inside her house and somehow made it to the living room couch to finally lay her down.

But it wasn't until the next morning did I see that I fell asleep on the floor in her living room, next to the coffee table that was stood in the middle of the big room.
I groaned, wincing as I felt my back ache from the worst possible position I slept in last night. I rolled to lay on my back, staring at the ceiling as I struggled to sit up, my head immediately starting to throb.

"Fuck." I hissed, rubbing my forehead before turning to look at the couch where Layla had slept, only to see that it was now empty.

This was a hangover from hell, and it was my first real one. Sure I'd drink a couple beers here and there at parties, but I never got blackout drunk like last night. I remembered the exciting things, but other than that, I didn't remember much.

Other than my lap dance by Mr. Styles, I didn't remember much from last night.

I blushed at the thought instantly, trying to bury it and store the memory for later when I heard footsteps nearing the living room.

"Headache killing you?" Layla asked, holding two cups of a drink with straws as she came to sit down on the couch across from me on the floor.

She was still in the same clothes she wore last night, but she must've cleaned off her messed up makeup from last night before I woke up. I could only imagine how much of a mess I must look like.

I groaned. "Yeah. You?"

She shrugged. "I'm used to them by now. Here," She pushed one of the cups to offer it to me. "Drink that, it'll help sober you up."

I looked at the glass cup, the blood- red drink inside slushed around as I mixed it with the straw, a lime slice floating at the surface. Shrugging, I take a sip from the drink through the straw, tasting a strong yet faded taste of a tomatoey earthy taste as I drank it.

It didn't taste horrible. It was a mixture of spicy and salty, but it wasn't too bad.

"What is this?" I ask with furrowed brows, holding up the drink.

"A Bloody Mary. It's the best cure for a hangover, and I've perfected it to sober me up as soon as possible." Layla winked, raising her eyebrows while taking another drink from her glass.

My eyes widened as realized what she said, slamming my cup to the coffee table. "What the hell, why're you giving me more booze?"

Layla chuckled at my reaction, shaking her head while her fingers twirled the straw around her cup.

"No, you doofus." She laughed, "It's a virgin Bloody Mary. 'Virgin' means it's got no booze. That's why it helps with hangovers, because it's nothing but tomatoey and spicy goodness."

I exhaled, glaring at Layla before reluctantly reaching for my Bloody Mary to drink from it again. If it's gonna cure me of this migraine from hell, might as well get it over with.

"I still can't believe Zayn was there. What a fucking douche." She shook her head while she took a drink.

The mention of Zayn's name made me tense. It was uncomfortable to hear his name after so long, and I definitely didn't expect to see him there last night. I wasn't ready to see him at all.
And if I remember correctly, he was trying to threaten me by saying he'd call me out.

"Yeah.." I whispered, subconsciously twirling my straw around my cup.

I could feel Layla's sympathetic eyes peek at me over the rim of her cup. "Are you okay?" She cleared her throat.

I hated it when people gave me pity. I didn't need it. I especially didn't need it now.

"Can we just talk about this later? My head hurts too much to talk about him right now."

Layla nodded, immediately dropping the subject to let us drink in comfortable silence.

But with Layla, silence never lasted long.

"So," Layla dragged out, a smirk on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows. "How'd you like your birthday present last night?"

"What present?" I ask, completely oblivious.

"Oh, for God's sake," She shook her head, a disbelieving look on her face, "Your lap dance!"

My eyes widened ; I choked on my drink, spitting out the rest of the red beverage as I set it on the coffee table to clean it off my face.

Layla laughed, enjoying my delirious state.

"Man, I hope you liked it cause that stripper was supposedly the best one, and practically the manager of the club." Layla chuckled, her eyes heavy as she waved her drink lazily.

I gulped, eyes wide at the reminder.

"What was his stage name again?" She asked, eyebrows furrowed as she stared into space for a moment. "Mr.."

"Styles." I blurted, cheeks reddening, "His name—his stage name was Mr. Styles."

Layla smirked, nodding as she seemed to remember. "Yeah, you're right. He was pretty fucking hot, huh?"

I scoffed, biting the inside of my cheek as I mentally scolded myself for even thinking about agreeing with Layla.

Of course I thought he was hot. Of course he turned me on with every touch and movement he made.

But he was my high school teacher for Christ's sake.

"Yeah," I finally admitted. "Thank you for last night. I actually had a really nice time."

"I could tell." She winked.

I ignored her insinuations.

"Layla," I began, my mouth moving before I even gave it permission to ask the question I dreaded. "Didn't he seem at all familiar to you? Like we know him from somewhere?"

Layla furrows her eyebrows as she twirls her drink around. "No..I don't think so. Why?"

I then remembered what Mr. Styles said to me last night about saying anything to anyone about him being a stripper.
He seemed angry with me, as if it were my fault he was living a secret double life.

Technically, Layla was there, therefore I wouldn't be disobeying Mr. Styles' threat.

I had to confront this sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

"I'm pretty sure that was Mr. Styles," I exhale, seeing Layla's expectant look, "Like our teacher, Mr. Styles."

Layla's own eyes widened. "There's no way."

I nodded profusely. "It was him, I'm sure. I was up on stage, and he looked and talked like our teacher, Mr. Styles."

The deal breaker was his eyes.

There was no way to misidentify those unmistakeable emerald green eyes. Those beautiful seas of pure viridescent pools that are his iris'.

They were the same eyes that pierced me during class while he would cast me looks while giving lessons, or just simply picking up our homework.

Seeing as though Layla didn't seem convinced, I pushed further, "Layla, he knew my name! You never told him my name, I never did either. He said, and I quote, 'I hope you had a good birthday, Rosé.'"

My mouth hanging open with surprise as I relived last night's events, waiting for Layla's response.

She seemed baffled, she seemed absolutely speechless. "Holy shit, that's insane!" But she believed me.

"I know." I ran a hand through my hair stressfully.

"You got a lap dance from our chemistry and biology teacher?!" She squealed, setting her drink down.

"Yeah.."

"And you liked it didn't you? Cause it sure as hell seemed like he really did." She teased, but she didn't seemed to be joking.

"Yeah.." I groaned. I couldn't believe I was saying this out loud.

"So, Mr. Styles works the weekends as a male stripper?" She asked, leaning down to be eye level with me. Our eyes were bloodshot from last night.

I nodded slowly, slightly embarrassed and maybe even ashamed.

"Wow.." She snickered, "I thought he only gave chemistry and biology exams, but I guess he gives lap dances too.."

~

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