It was 3am, I had already been out at bars and had met up with Red Bull (refer to "I always Go for the Nice Guy") at some point in the night. Just as I thought we were making our way home he grabbed my hand, hailed a cab and told me we were going somewhere. My moans of exhaustion didn't stop him and instead he asked me to trust him (flashback of Aladdin leading Jasmine onto the magic carpet except in this case I'm not dressed like a genie and its a stinky yellow cab). He takes me to this very exclusive club in Chelsea. Waiting near a wine colored velvet rope are fancy men and model type arm candy anxiously trying to get in. Let me point out- I was wearing jeans, a hoodie, heeled boots and hoops. These women were wearing the typical too tight-and-short black dress and tons of makeup with revlon silky hair-dos. I felt sexy as Hell. I love the slutty dress look but my ghetto fabulous attire for some reason made me feel fantastic that night, maybe because it was highly inappropriate for where we were and yet I was the one being escorted under the velvet ropes.
This friggin kid has connections! We got inside and the place was lined with VIP tables with bottle service. It was dark, crowded enough and sexy. Long story short he knows people. He's buddies with some big shot who welcomed us to his table and we spent the night drinking champagne and dancing on the couches. Up on that leather ledge shaking my ass I got this high that only comes at 3am on a crazy night like that; I felt light as a feather, like I was floating above all the heads in the crowd. I'm still not convinced that Redbull and I have the passion of soul mates but damn he shows me a good time!
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