I wouldn't mind his boxers on my bedroom floor in the morning.

By Friday, I am more than ready to let loose and have some fun.

It has been a very long week. On top of Chad, the temperamental model, I have been planning a wedding for an actual Bridezilla.

I'm surprised the media hasn't been alerted that she is on the loose.

It started with the menu. Madeline was very definite on what she wanted to be served at her wedding. In fact, so definite that she had given me a very detailed list, which included everything from colour scheme, to which ingredients must absolutely not be used.

The problem came when she arrived for the tasting. I had given her instructions to the catering company and they had prepared a meal that met her requirements. This, apparently was not good enough.

So much so, that she threw her plate against a wall, almost clipping the poor chef on the ear. It had taken me almost ten minutes to calm her down, during which the kitchen staff attempted to scrape bits of food off the tile while throwing disgusted glances her way.

Next came the décor. She had originally been determined that her main wedding colour must be a 'dusty pink', and now she has decided that in fact she would like it to be 'lavender', which apparently 'suits her whole aesthetic better'. Her groom pointing out that they had already paid for two hundred dusty pink wedding invitations caused her to hit the roof, screaming and shouting at everyone in sight.

If Jason actually makes it down the aisle, he deserves a fucking medal. Seriously.

Needless to say, I could do with a drink. Or six.

We make it to Tall-oaks and have to fight our way to the bar, it is that packed. Hordes of bodies are crammed into the small space, jostling each other as they attempt to place orders. Luckily, Chase had seen us coming and was already preparing drinks for us.

"Seriously, never let this man go," I say to Diana as we approach him, squeezing through a group of rowdy men toasting their beers. "I don't think I could live without the privileges of being friends with the bartender."

"I heard that, Lex," Chase smiles tiredly as he puts our drinks down in front of us. A large wet patch covers the front of his t-shirt, probably from someone drunkenly spilling on him, and his forehead is coated with a layer of sweat that glistens under the overhead lighting. His shoulder length hair has been tied into a bun at the base of his neck as it usually is when he's working, though several strands have come loose.

I remember asking Diana once if his long hair bothered her. She told me that it was 'nice to grip on to'. I am still scarred at those words coming out of my supposedly innocent friend. What has he done to her?

"You were supposed to hear it, Chase," I tease. "Do you really think I would be friends with you if it wasn't for the free drinks?"

He pretends to consider it for a moment. "Actually, I think you would."

Well, he has me there. Chase is the kind of guy everyone wants to be friends with and I have a definite soft spot for him thanks to how well he treats Diana.

"Are you playing tonight?" Diana asks him. I know she is secretly hoping he will; she loves hearing him sing and I can't really blame her. Though I enjoy teasing them both about his singing, I have to admit that Chase is extremely talented. His voice is like velvet and I sometimes wonder why he never pursued a career in music.

"Only if you want me to."

She nods eagerly and he gives her a smile, patting her hand on the bar. Those two are sickeningly sweet and ridiculously perfect for each other. From their matching dirty blonde hair right down to their taste in music.

Gag.

Although, I actually can't complain. He's made my friend the happiest I have ever seen her and for that I am beyond grateful.

I take a long sip of my Chase Special, the dark blue concoction that Chase poured for us. It's a fruity mixture and I've never been able to guess the strong after taste that coats my tongue. The person who it's named after still won't tell me what's in it, despite my constant pestering.

"Shhhh," Diana turns to me, although I am not actually making any noise. "Chase is going on."

I hadn't even noticed him leave the bar. But sure enough, when I look up I see that he's made his way to the makeshift stage, his hair now free of its ponytail.

"Hey everybody," Chase shouts into the microphone, immediately grabbing everyone's attention. "Thanks for coming out and welcome to another one of our infamous open Mic nights!"

A huge cheer goes through the crowd, some men going as far as stomping their feet on the ground. I'm assuming the copious amount of liquor consumed here tonight is aiding in everyone's enthusiasm.

"Now as many of you may know, I have been dating the most amazing girl." His words are met with a huge round of applause, and Diana blushes so hard next to me, I swear I can feel the heat radiating off her. "This one's for you, baby."

I am fully expecting him to start singing a sappy love song, but he takes me completely by surprise.

"I don't like your little games, don't like your tilted stage, the role you made me play, of the fool, no I don't like you."

"Is he playing Taylor Swift?" I ask Diana, who's giggling loudly, her cheeks going a darker shade of red. It must be some sort of reference between the two of them because I can't figure out why he would choose this song to serenade her with.

"Yes," she responds, her eyes shining.

"I don't get it," I whisper, confused as all hell. I used to think Chase was romantic, now I'm not so sure.

"He thinks it should have been my song for Mason," she answers before shushing me again.

And suddenly I understand. Chase had never liked Mason; the guy Diana had been dating when they first met. In fact, I'm almost positive that Chase and Diana had met here at this very bar while she was supposed to be on a date with Mason.

I look around at the rest of the bar goers. Judging by the look on people's faces, I'm not the only one who had been expecting a romantic ballad. My eyes skim past the tables at the back where the crowd has thinned slightly.

It's then that I see him. Standing in the corner, watching Chase with an empty tray held loosely in his hand. His black hair is tousled messily and his Tall-Oaks trade mark t-shirt hangs loosely on his tall frame. Even from here I can see that he has the most incredible hazel eyes, which seem almost magnified by the stubble that's littered along his strong jawline.

Holy hell.

He's gorgeous. Not in the pretty boy, heavily muscled, need fifteen types of lotion, way that Chad is. But, in a more natural, rugged, use shampoo for everything, kind of way. His ripped jeans and black converse speak of comfort rather than designer labels and that Tall-Oaks shirt is just begging to be ripped off.

I take all this in before noticing that, not only is he looking at me, he knows that I have been ogling him for a good minute or two.

Looking away quickly, I turn my attention back to where Chase is calling the next person up on stage. Diana is clapping so enthusiastically, I'm pretty sure her hands are going to be sore tomorrow. I'm too busy wondering who Mr Tall Dark and Handsome is, and why I've never seen him before, to join her.

I'm on my fourth, or maybe it's my seventh, Chase special by the time I think it's safe to bring up the new waiter. These things are lethal and should only be consumed in small doses. I wish I'd learned from the first time that I drank them and had a raging hangover.

Deciding to try and broach the subject carefully and not be too obvious, I lean over to Chase as he's pouring another round of drinks and whisper loudly, "Hey Chase, who's the sexy new waiter guy?"

Oh subtlety, thy name is Alexa.

He raises his eyebrows at me with a frown. I'm pretty sure he and Diana had been deep in conversation when I interrupted with my question, but thanks to the alcohol swimming through my veins I don't really give a damn. "Who?"

Diana looks around. By now, she has also had a fair few of the Chase Specials; they really knock you on your ass. Her eyes are slightly dazed and her cheeks are flushed. "She means Devon."

She points to Mr Tall dark and Handsome himself, who is now wiping down tables close to the bathrooms. The bar has noticeably emptied in the last hour or so, giving us an even better view of him without people in the way.

"Do you agree that he's sexy?" Chase asks her, shaking his hair back and laughing.

She looks as though she has been caught in a compromising position by her parents, her already pink face going a deep shade of scarlet. "I didn't say that! I wasn't even looking!"

Oh she who doth protest too much!

Or whatever the actual line is supposed to be, I can't remember at this point. I glance back over at him. The name suits him somehow; I've never met a Devon before, but I sure as hell would like to get to know this one.

"I wouldn't mind his boxers on my bedroom floor in the morning."

Did I just say that out loud?

Chase looks momentarily shocked at my brazenness, before he bursts into laughter, clutching his sides as though it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. He barely sobers up enough to say, "Trust me Lex, he is not your type."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask indignantly, raising my voice slightly as his laughter escalates; a great booming sound that has several people glancing in our direction.

Finally, after a few mortifying moments, he notices me glaring at him and his chuckles subside. "Well for one, he can actually string a sentence together."

"Hey!"

"And for another," he starts, but I don't get to hear what the other reason is as the topic of our conversation approaches the bar. Chase immediately turns to him, a sympathetic smile slipping onto his face. "Oh hey Dev, beer? It's quietening down now."

Devon nods gratefully, placing his tray on the bar and pulling up the stool next to me. He smells slightly of liquor, I'm assuming from spilled drinks, but under that is another scent that I can't quite put my finger on.

"Dev, you remember my beautiful girlfriend Diana? And this is her friend Alexa. Lex this is Devon," Chase introduces, unable to keep the knowing smirk off his face.

I'm going to get Hailee to give him a smack when she comes.

"Diana," Devon gives her a small wave, "nice to see you again." And then he turns to me with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, Alexa was it?"

Normally I am pretty good at witty comebacks. In fact, I had prepared a flirty line in my head as he was approaching. But as soon as I look him directly in the eye I am screwed. Whatever I had been about to say disappears. They really are the most beautiful colour I have ever seen. Green and brown flecks line the iris, and they sparkle with mischief.

Apples. That's what it is. He smells like apples.

His delicious scent and gorgeous eyes are almost as lethal a combination as a Chase Special. I could get drunk on them alone.

Too late, I realise that he's still looking at me, waiting for a response. I just nod silently, for once in my life lost for words. Although, I think I am actually going to put that down to the copious amounts of alcohol I have consumed tonight and not because of Devon's presence.

The night wears on as the bar empties out completely, leaving us the last four still in there. Diana and Chase are, as usual, in their own little world, and I am actually quite grateful for Devon, otherwise I would be seriously third wheeling right now.

I wish I could say I remember every little detail about him, but I don't. As the night has continued, so has my drinking, making all the details a little fuzzy. I remember that his name is Devon, and that he is gorgeous. That he's a waiter at Tall-oaks.

I remember him telling me that he was working at the bar to save money because his dad was ill. I remember being jealous of his eyelashes, that are thick, dark and long, and look like he is wearing mascara. I may have even pointed that out to him.

I remember Chase closing up the bar, and helping Diana into a cab, instructing Devon to get me home safe. I very vaguely remember getting out of the car in front of my apartment and turning to thank Devon for ensuring that I got home.

And then the feeling of nausea that rolled through my stomach as I bent over and threw up all over his nice clean converse shoes.

His shoe lace is untied.

And that is the last thing that I remember.