All I Can't Resist

Chapter One

I glance nervously around the parking lot and tug my already buttoned coat a little closer to my body. Somehow this seemed like a much better idea when I was sitting home alone a few hours ago, bored, watching season one of 90210 on DVD for the hundredth time.

Now that I’m actually here though, I’m starting to think my best option is to turn around, run right back to my car, and drive straight home without a second thought.

“Come on, Chels,” my friend Veronica says, taking a swig out of the water bottle full of vodka that she stole out of her parents’ liquor cabinet, “we can’t just sit in the car all night.” I sigh. Somehow I always get myself into these types of situations with her.

Veronica and I have been friends since we were like four. She’s a really good friend and has this really big heart, but she’s also kind of um…crazy. I don’t mean literally crazy in the head. I just mean she’s kind of carefree. She doesn’t worry about what could go wrong in a situation. She just lives for the moment. Unlike me, who worries about every little thing. I worry about things that haven’t even happened yet, and about things that probably never will happen.

“I know,” I tell her, looking around my car for something that could possibly buy me a little more time. “I’m just thinking.”

She shrugs and throws back her head, finishing what’s left in the water bottle.

Yikes, now she’s going to want to go in for sure. A Veronica without alcohol is not a happy Veronica.

“Thinking about what?” she asks me. “What could go wrong?”

Jeez, I don’t know. We could get caught using fake IDs at the bar. They could call my parents, or even the police. Somehow entering my senior year with a criminal record and grounded for the rest of my life doesn’t sound like the best idea.

She must see the look on my face because before I can say anything she goes,

“Don’t answer that.” Then she swings the door open and before I can protest she’s marching across the parking lot toward the entrance of the bar.

I shake off my nerves, push all thoughts out of my mind, and jump out of the car before I have time to change my mind again. I glance down at my outfit for the millionth time as I run to catch up with her. Jeans and a light blue sweater. I look like I just stepped out of a Gap catalogue, which isn’t exactly a bad thing. It isn’t exactly sexy, either.

Veronica, on the other hand, looks like she belongs in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. Her dress is short, black, and tight. She has it paired with white high heels, hoop earrings, and red lipstick. Her blonde hair is flowing in perfect curls down her back.

I run my hand through my straight brown hair and try to remind myself that it doesn’t matter what I look like. It’s not like I have anyone to impress anyway.

“What if they know they’re fakes?” I plead.

Veronica stops in her tracks and turns to look me in the eye. “Chelsea, relax, the IDs are legit. They were like eighty bucks. Nothing that expensive is a scam.”

I roll my eyes. This is exactly what I mean when I say Veronica doesn’t worry about anything. Nothing that expensive can be a scam? Yeah, right. This is 2013.

Scammers live for this type of shit.

“The only thing that’s going to throw up a red flag is you if you don’t knock it off,” she continues, unzipping her wristlet and smothering her already red lips with more lipstick.

“Me?” I squeak.

She nods and tosses the tube of lipstick back inside her clutch, “Yes, you. They’re going to suspect something is off if you keep acting all jittery. Now just breathe, and relax. I have this all under control. Just follow my lead.” And before I know it, she’s walking again and I’m, as always, a step behind.

Once inside Veronica marches right through the restaurant part of the entrance and into the bar. She does it effortlessly, like she’s here all the time. I’m not sure what I was expecting when I walked in. Maybe a huge scene with cops standing by the door, checking IDs, and waiting to tote us off to jail. But if anyone notices anything strange about us, they don’t let on. In fact, no one really acknowledges us at all. Well, that’s not true. No one really acknowledges me. People definitely acknowledge Veronica. And when I say people I mean guys, of course. But she’s used to this by now, and just flips her hair over her shoulder, playing her part.

She grabs two seats by the bar and I sit down next to her, allowing myself to finally breath, thanking God we even made it inside the front door.

“Can we have two strawberry margaritas?” Veronica calls casually to the guy working behind the bar. He nods, barely looking at us, and then starts making our drinks.

“See,” Veronica says turning to me, “piece of cake. This isn’t even really a bar, anyway. It’s a sports bar.”

This is typical Veronica. She is always taking credit for the rare times that her horrible ideas work out, claiming that she knew there was nothing to worry about. Of course when things go wrong, which is most of the time, she’s just as quick to jump on the other side of things. Saying things like, “I knew this was a bad idea from the start,” or

“I don’t know why you let me do this. You know I do things without thinking them through!”

The bartender sets our drinks down in front of us and I force myself to take a sip, trying to pretend like I do this type of thing every day. La la la, act natural.

I allow myself to glance around the room and survey the scene a little bit.

It’s a Wednesday, so the place is pretty empty. There’s an older couple in the corner, some college kids playing darts in the back, and some random floaters sitting at the bar. I allow my eyes to drift toward the door where a group of guys are sitting. They look older than us, probably home from college. They had noticeably checked out Veronica when we walked in, so I had noticeably tried to pretend they didn’t exist. Then, just as I’m about to turn my attention back to my best friend, I spot a group of guys on the other side of the bar.

I had almost missed them at first because they’re sitting on the other side of this divider that’s centered in the middle of the bar for some reason. I squint and allow myself a closer look. They look young, like our age young, but I’ve definitely never seen them around school before. I’m just about to turn my attention away from them when I realize I recognize one of them. I definitely know him from somewhere; I just can’t quite put my finger on where. Hmm…no, not school. And I don’t have a job, so not work. Ha-ha! I’m just about to let it go when it clicks in my mind. Shit, shit, shit.

I grab Veronica’s arm hard and she lets out a high-pitched screech. “Ow!”

“We need to go now!” I tell her, reaching in my purse for some bills to leave on the bar.

“Why?” Veronica asks, rubbing her wrist like I’ve just broken it in two places.

That’s the other thing about Veronica; she’s extremely over-dramatic.

“I know that kid over there!” I whisper desperately.

“Where?” Veronica asks loudly, looking around in an obnoxious way.

“Shh! Don’t look!” I scold her.

She shrugs. “How can I look when I don’t even know what I’m looking for?”

“I know that kid over there,” I say through clenched teeth.

Veronica glances over my shoulder to the other side of the divider and lets out a little joyful squeal, “Ohh, which one? They’re sexy!”

She would be thinking about hot boys at a time like this. I need to get out of here, and fast.

“The one in the hat,” I tell her, “he’s friends with Kate.”

Kate’s my older sister. She’s a freshman at Columbia this year, in addition to being everything that I’m not. And when I say everything I’m not, I mean beautiful, funny, strong, and a total genius. No really, she even graduated a year early. I think my parents are totally disappointed when they compare me to her, like where did they go wrong or something. My mom always says things like, “Too bad you can’t be more like Kaitlin.” Or, “Well, I know if Kaitlin was in this situation…”

“What’s his name?” Veronica asks, not taking her eyes away from the table the boys are sitting at.

I frown. What is she crazy? Who cares what his name is?! If he sees me he’ll tell Kate, who will definitely tell my parents that I was in a bar. Don’t get me wrong, my sister and I are actually pretty close, but she’s definitely a straight-edge. She would not get why I was in a bar with Veronica on a Wednesday night. Especially because she isn’t the biggest fan of Veronica to begin with.

“I’m not sure. Shawn, I think?”

Veronica looks at me skeptically. “You think? Doesn’t seem like he’s really that good of friends with your sister if you don’t even know his name.”

“Of course they’re good friends. Best friends even.” Which is kind of true. Well, I mean, technically I only saw him over the house one time. And I’m pretty sure he was only there because my sister was talking to this kid Mike from the basketball team who’s pretty good friends with Shawn. He didn’t even go to our school. He went to Eastern, which is the school in the town next to ours. Still, supposedly he’s this like amazing basketball player. They say he’s on track to get into the NBA draft like right out of high school, which is crazy. I’m almost sure this is part of the reason he’s such a jerk. You know the type, totally full of himself and sure that the world revolves around him.

Veronica laughs and takes the jacket she’s wearing off to show off her dress a little more. Oh great, she’s getting comfortable.

“Let’s go, please,” I try again.

“If we get up now they’ll know it’s because of them.”

“No they won’t,” I tell her. “How will they?”

“Because,” she says, clenching their teeth, “here they come.”

I glance over my shoulder and notice that Shawn and his friend are now walking directly toward us. Oh, for God’s sake. Can’t I catch a break?

For a second I think maybe I can because they walk by us. And just as I’m about to exhale the breath I’ve been sucking in, Shawn stops and sits himself down right next to Veronica. His friend keeps walking through the bar into the restaurant, but not Shawn. He has to sit down right next to us.

He reaches over the bar effortlessly and grabs an empty glass from the other side, placing it under the nearby tap and filling the glass to the rim. If the bartender seems concerned about the fact that a minor is now stealing alcohol from their establishment under his watch he doesn’t show it.

Shawn takes a long swig from the glass and turns his attention to us. His features are dark. He has the type of skin tone girls spend hours in the sun trying to get. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, with eyelashes surrounding them that you would swear he must curl. He’s wearing a hat, but I remember his hair being short and dark, with facial hair that suits him perfectly. He’s absolutely beautiful and he knows it. And not in a good kind of way.

“You look like the girl from Casper,” he reports to Veronica firmly.

Oh please. That’s his pick up line? You look like the girl from Casper? No way that works for him. And then I notice Veronica giggling and twirling her hair around her finger. Of course it works for him. He doesn’t have to be creative looking the way he does. As if to prove my point, right at that moment two girls walk in and giggle and stare as they pass by Shawn. If he notices them staring he doesn’t let on. Instead, I notice his eyes are on me.

“You guys look familiar. Where would I have seen you before?”

I fix my eyes on the numerous sports games that are taking place on screens around the bar and let Veronica take over. The last thing I need is Shawn thinking he knows me and asking a bunch of questions. Veronica easily takes over the conversation, as if we’re in a sitcom and she’s the star. I knew she would, which is completely and totally fine with me.

I’m busy tuning them out and minding my own business when my eyes fix on the basketball game going across one of the TV screens. Ugh! LeBron James would have to be splattered across the monitor. What makes it worse is that they have closed-captioning turned on, so everything that’s being said is typed out on the bottom of the screen so you can read along.

Of course the announcers are praising him, as usual. It’s so annoying. I mean, okay, yeah he’s an amazing basketball player, but does he have to walk around like he knows he’s the best? I mean hello, what happened to being a little bit modest?

“Asshole,” I say aloud, without thinking.

Veronica turns her head to me and shoots me a dirty look.

“Oh sorry,” I say, noticing both of their glares on me. “It’s just, ya know, the game.”

Veronica glances at the screen and nods. “Oh, don’t mind Chelsea. She has a major problem with Larry James.”

“It’s LeBron, actually,” I correct her.

“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes like it’s the least important thing in the world anyway.

“You don’t like him, huh?” Shawn asks from the other side of Veronica.

“Don’t like him?” I laugh. “Hate is a better word.”

Shawn nods, then turns the hat that he’s wearing around so the Miami Heat logo is visible on the front. I roll my eyes. It figures he’d be a Miami Heat fan. How original.