Go to the Big Apple with Val!

“New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of?” you say in a sing-song voice. “I’m ready for these streets to make me feel brand new!”

You give Val a high-five, your hands meeting with a satisfying crack. Val shakes her hand, giving you a look.

“You didn’t have to hit me that hard,” she says, blowing on the back of her hand.

“I thought you wanted to get blasted tonight,” Mars says, laughing at Val’s reaction.

“I doubt she wanted to get hand-blasted,” you say. You deftly pick up her hand and give it a light kiss. “There are much harder things to get blasted on.”

“Don’t you get too excited. We’ll continue this conversation when we’re drunker,” Val smirks with a shake of her head. “Come’n, the train’s going to leave any minute now!”

Although Val looked conspicuously overdressed on the train to the city, nobody seemed to care much. The two of you spent the hour or so on the train looking up potential spots in town to hit, discussing reviews online and swiping through Snap stories, trying to figure out which places will let you sneak in underaged. That, and taking turns covertly sipping from a plastic bottle of vodka that Val produced, slowly getting tipsier and tipsier.

The two of you manage to find a couple promising spots in the Lower East Side, and after passing on a place that was too down-tempo and lounge-like for what you’re looking for tonight, you settle on a quintessential bumping bar featuring too-loud music and a cocktail menu three miles long.

Your approach to the bar is interrupted by a conga line of partiers dancing to Cotton Eyed Joe. Val jumps into the line, putting her hands on the shoulders of the girthy man in front of her, leaving you **** but to saddle up behind her lest she be dragged away by the currents of the crowd. With your hands on Val’s shoulders, you struggle to keep your eyes away from the shape of her black dress clad against her ass. The way it shimmies back and forth to the beat of “where did you come from, where did you go” isn’t something that you thought you’d experience tonight, but sometimes, that’s just the way the cards fall.

As the song changes and a new group of people flood into the bar, everything gets that much more cramped. A stranger’s hands find themselves on your shoulder, while others around you flail to the music like adorable buffoons. You push yourself up against Valentine, grinding up against her ass, and she sneaks you a smile over her shoulder. You slide your hands down to her waist, pressing her closer against you, letting her feel your growing semi, and she plays along, shaking her ass for you as the congo line marches on.

You sing and dance your way to the bar, where you disconnect from the conga line to order something off the menu—you don’t really remember what drink after five minutes and you’re not sure the bartender heard you properly anyways, and Val gets herself drink too. The two of you take a minute to pound back the drink before going for seconds, and then it’s back into the party. Song after song blasts over the speakers, enough pop and rock and country to fill a lifetime. You dance alongside Valentine. The two of you swing your hips and put your hands in the air, letting the energy of the night consume you. It’s a show and a blast. You remember a flashing disco light, feeling like it’s two-hundred degrees with the press of the bodies, drinking more and dancing off the rails with Val. Before you know it, an hour or two has passed, and Val taps you on the shoulder, gesturing outside.

The two of you take a breather in the street, sucking in the cool night air greedily.

“Fuck, I need some water,” you say, wiping the sweat off your brow. “You feeling beat?”

“I could go for hours more,” Val laughs, somehow still looking spectacular in her V-neck, her sideboob now glistening as much as the rhinestones on her dress. It’s mighty distracting. “What, don’t tell me you’re tired.”

“So why’d you call me out?” you ask.

“Let’s hit the club that we found earlier,” she says. “We need to go harder!”

“Hell yes,” you laugh, giving her another high five. “Let’s go!”

The two of you make a quick pit stop by a convenience store, grabbing some water and chips to scarf down, and then it’s off to the club. The wave of house music hits you from a block away, and you manage to finagle an entry through the bathroom backdoor. The flashing lights and sweltering heat of the dance floor is exactly what you and Val were looking for, and you dive into the crowd, moshing your heart out.

“You should hit up the DJ,” Val screams in your ear as you dance past one another. “Do a collab or something!”

“He’s got a good set,” you laugh, “I’m here to dance, not play the crowd.”

“Good man,” Val smiles, bouncing on her feet as the beat accelerates.

Your hands go up too, preparing for the drop, and when it hits, the floor goes crazy. You fly every which way, a tornado of limbs swirling around you, the music so thick in the air that you can practically taste it. Val brushes past you and you grab her hand, the two of you spinning off to the side of the club, grinding against each other and having the time of your life.

Another dozen tracks go by, and you feel like you’re getting lighter and lighter on your feet, the rhythm of the dance carrying you to its own heights. It’s a feminine voice that snaps you out of your reverie.

“Hey, do I know you?” a voice calls out. A blonde girl that was dancing up against Val whips her head towards you, staring for a second, and it takes a second for the gears to click.

Valentine +15