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sex with a variety of women. He gropes Sandi’s ass while we wait for the dance floor to fill up.
    Rylan buys Shona and I pornstars because they are on special. He has his usual rum and Coke, and Brice downs three Jägerbombs in quick succession. I’m not that interested in getting drunk tonight, but everyone else seems to be. Shona’s eyes are skimming the club for, well, anyone to bang, pretty much. She and I are sitting on tall stools attached to the floor, and Rylan is standing behind me, pressed right up against me. He’s such a sucker for physical contact. Not that I’m exactly complaining. A group of about ten women comes in, wearing pretty much nothing but lingerie—like corsets and fishnets, and I don’t get it for a moment until I notice that one near the back, looking pretty fucking embarrassed, is wearing a veil and a tiara and a big pink, plastic necklace that says “BRIDE.”
    The girls approach the bar and, with the exception of the bride-to-be, are being pretty damn raucous. Brice whistles at them, and Sandi looks confused and hurt. I feel bad for her. She probably thinks Brice’s asshole act is, well, an act. It’s not. Not even close. When it comes to girls, Brice is pretty much a douchebag. We all move down to the dance floor. It’s finally started to fill up a bit, and we’re not interested in listening to the girls beg free drinks in honour of the occasion. Brice and Sandi immediately find a quasi-secluded corner in which they grind up against each other and make out. Shona and Rylan and I just dance. Clubbing is such a strange phenomenon: music so loud it hurts, everyone pretty much just looking around for someone to fuck. I don’t need someone to fuck, seeing as I already have someone, so it’s not an activity I particularly enjoy. I get bored of dancing fast. I’m basically just wingmanning for Shona until she finds herself someone, and then I intend on indicating to Rylan that we could be elsewhere, like, for instance, in a bed, or against a wall, or over a countertop.
    A short but kind of hot dude dances his way up to Shona. She grins at him and doesn’t hesitate to make him feel welcome. I start to calculate the number of songs it will take before I can shout “you good?” into her ear and take off with Rylan in tow, when a couple of girls start moving in on Rylan and me. He’s good-natured and grins and wiggles his hips and does stupid-adorable fake dance moves with the one that seems interested in him. Not knowing what else to do, I kind of half-heartedly dance with her friend. I wonder if we’re both wingmanning tonight.
    I’m considering asking her when Rylan unexpectedly grabs the back of my head and pulls me in, harshly, so his lips are against mine and his tongue is plunging into my mouth and the girls are standing looking at us kind of bewilderedly before smiling and giving us thumbs up and walking away. Rylan pulls back and grins at me—he thinks he’s pretty fucking funny—and then he tugs harshly at my nipple through my shirt for no good reason and says something about getting more drinks, and struts away, leaving me vaguely horny and alone. Well, alone for about three seconds, that is, because the next thing I know Shona is pulling herself really close to me, rubbing her body against mine, and I get that the guy who made a move on her has been deemed creepy. I put my hands on her waist and pull her in close until the guy gets the message and begins his search elsewhere. Shona mouths “thank you” and rolls her pretty, made-up eyes.
    I look around for Rylan. When I spot him, I’m a little surprised to see the bride from the bachelorette party whispering in his ear. He beams and offers her his arm like some nineteenth century throwback. She links hers with his, holding onto his bicep and they walk down the steps together. Rylan seeks us out, passes Shona and me our drinks and then turns back to the bride, one arm circling her waist and the other clasping one of