Chapter One:

Buffy had finally made the big time, struck out on her own, living it up in New York City. Yeah…right. Somehow, she didn’t think her closet-sized apartment or her full-time job as a bartender’s assistant could really translate as living it up. It could be exciting at times. She would give it that. Not everyone gets lulled to sleep by the melodious sounds of car alarms and crack addicts. Somehow, she’d hoped for more…just…more. As is, she felt a little silly that she couldn’t even get a job as a full-fledged bartender. Do other bars even have assistants? Apparently, her drink mixing skills were questionable, but her boss (and many customers, it seemed) appreciated the shape of her ass. So goes life. A degree in political science, and she gets a job because she has a decent looking rump. Granted, the degree was her father’s idea, but since she had no real ambition of her own, she figured she’d give it a go.

Her father was sorely disappointed when she told him she was following her college boyfriend across the country from her home in California to big, bad New York City. He had hoped that she would pursue a job in local government. She was an only child, and in lieu of a son, it would be nice to have a politically active daughter to boast about. That wasn’t to be, though. She had dated Riley during her last two years of college. She was a bit of a late bloomer and had given him her virginity the night before he left for grad school in New York. He said he loved her and promised that they could make a long distance relationship work. She was that important to him. Well, her relationship with Riley folded the day she arrived in the city, when she found him engaged in some rather impressive acrobatics with two 18 year old members of the American Ballet Company. She had wanted to surprise him, but she was the one that got the big surprise. So, after the requisite screaming and crying, she holed up in a cheap hotel until she found an equally cheap apartment. No way was she crawling back to daddy.

Daddy. Buffy’s father worked at a law firm in Los Angeles. Her mother ran an art gallery in Sunnydale, CA. Her father only lived with her mother on the weekends. He had an apartment in LA that he stayed at during the week. Buffy was pretty sure that he was banging his secretary, but it wasn’t something they discussed. She was also pretty sure that her mother had the same suspicions, but just didn’t care enough to confront him. They did a wonderful job at pretending to be the perfect, American family, but it would all come crashing down if they ever attempted meaningful conversation. So, they continued to look the other way. At least, it meant Buffy was given little grief for her life choices. Out of sight, out of mind. So, she stayed in New York City.

Now, a year later, she had settled into a routine that she was content with. She had made friends at the bar and was reasonably happy with life, though she still avoided dating like the plague. Plenty of guys asked her out at the bar, but she graciously turned them down. Dating and Buffy were decidedly unmixy things. Besides, she had plenty of fun going out to the clubs with her friends. Granted, Anya and Faith (one of the bartenders she worked with at McDonald’s Pub) always ending up leaving early with whatever pieces of meat that they picked up on the dance floor. Anya was always determined to meet her quota of orgasms for the week and Faith was..well…Faith. That left Buffy with Willow and Tara. Both were wonderful girls, but since they were in a committed relationship, it left Buffy feeling like a third wheel. Still, it was fun to get dressed up and go out and dance. She might not be interested in hooking up with the opposite sex, but it was nice to feel desired once in awhile. With so many models and actresses roaming about the city, it was easy to feel insecure. Buffy knew she was pretty enough. Thin with long honey-blonde hair and bright hazel eyes, but she was no leggy model. At 5’2” tall, she was just glad she was proportionate, even if that meant her breasts were a little on the smaller size.

It was Thursday night, her night off, and Buffy was currently staring into her closet trying to come up with a sexy (but not slutty), cute (but not too cute) outfit to wear to Blue. Blue was one of the girls’ favorite clubs. Big dance floor, cheap drinks, hot guys. It was almost always a good time. Buffy was in the midst of deciding between a blood red halter dress and a black leather mini-skirt with a backless silver shirt when her phone rang.


“Hey, Buff, it’s Anya. Don’t hang up.”

“Why would I hang up?”

“Because I met the perfect guy for you, and you always get a little catty when I try to hook you up.”



“I’m hanging up.”

“Buffy! Come on, you never date! Do your parts even work anymore?!”


“Stop saying my name! It’s too late anyway, I already invited him to meet us at the club.”

“Anya! God! Well, you didn’t tell him it was a set-up, right?”


“Right?! Fuck! Maybe I should just stay home.”

“Noooo, Buffy! No, it’ll be okay. He’s really nice. I mean his name is Angel, for god’s sake. Look, if you really can’t stand him, we can take out early and rent some movies or something.”

“Wow, you’re willing to risk potential orgasms? You must really want me to meet this guy.”

“So, you’ll come?! “

Sigh. Why do I even bother?

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I better not regret this.”

“Yay! I’ll see you tonight! Kisses!”

Great. Just great. This was not shaping up to be the evening I envisioned.

And what kind of stupid name is Angel, anyway?

Chapter End Notes:
Should I continue?

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