Jean didn’t know why she was nervous. It was only Emma. Sure, they hadn’t hung out together in years. Sure, they might have been lowkey flirting when they’d done lunch together. Sure, Jean was having the craziest dreams and associated headaches. Sure, she’d caught herself daydreaming all week in class.

Damn it.

It wasn’t a date, and she wasn’t going to treat it like one, which didn’t explain why she’d had her hair done, and was trying to find the classiest, sexiest thing she owned that would still work in a night club. She ended picking a green mini-dress, though she had a momentary deja vu moment she couldn’t quite explain. Why would a green mini dress give her deja vu?

She was doing finishing touches on her make-up when she heard the car pull up.

The point of the whole night was to enjoy themselves, which meant the freedom to drink as much as either of them wanted without worrying about how the hell they were getting home. Which was where Emma’s delightfully well paid driver came into things and her mini limo for the night. Sure, she had her own car and sure, she could’ve driven it and left it at the valet (because Emma was the sort to go to classy nightclubs) but she really didn’t want the hassle of getting a cab later.

Not that it would be difficult in the plunging white dress she wore with the fishtail cut and her breasts barely contained. Emma knew her colour, and white was her colour (Christian had always believed so too).

Fluffing her hair up, just as the driver pulled up beside Jean’s home, Emma rechecked her lipstick and gave her boobs a little check in the dress, just for a last minute make sure, while the driver walked to Jean’s door to politely wait for the redhead.

It might just be a casual night for two old friends to enjoy themselves, but that didn’t mean Emma was going to be less than stunningly flawless.

Green and red were Jean’s colors, as long as she picked the right shade so she didn’t resemble christmas. She grabbed her purse, and answered the door. She smiled at the driver. “And what’s your name?”

She was led to the car (and didn’t get his name, alas), but that didn’t matter. She ducked in, her eyes chest level with Emma and she nearly lost her balance. Oh Jesus. Steadying herself, she got in a little less gracefully than she’d intended. It felt like prom again. “You look fantastic, Emma.”

“Just as fantastic as you,” yes, Emma could be accused of idle flattery from time to time, apparently it was polite to return compliments, even if they weren’t entirely true. But in this instance that wasn’t the case. “I love your hair.”

But then, Emma had always loved that fiery mane Jean so effortlessly boasted.

“Anderson will have us there in no time, and the bonus is we won’t have just as long to get our feet aching.” Emma had some of the most professional chauffeur drivers in the State. There were three in particular that she liked due to their discretion when it came to Emma’s more decadent wants and Anderson was one of them.

"Thanks..." She self-consciously patted her own hair, before leaning back and crossing her ankles. "That's a relief, I usually don't do heels unless it's parent-teacher night. So count yourself lucky this is a special event just for you." She winked, and caught herself before she tried to bump shoulders with Emma. It was too soon to pick up old actions, wasn't it?

"Where are we going or is this a surprise?"

Heels were an art form, although it was something that Emma almost constantly indulged in, a good pair of shoes just completed an outfit, she at least wasn’t on her feet all day every day. Then again, Emma was also aware that vanity came with a price, and she was as vain as they came.

“No, it’s a relatively new club, I was informed of the fabulous drinks and invigorating music options.” Which Emma took to mean that her ears would be bleeding and she’d be suitably drunk by the end of the night.

Heels on Emma weren't something that Jean minded. They had a certain appeal and she knew she looked good in them too - she just never really got a chance to show her legs off like this. "You have me at fabulous drinks."

Jean leaned in a little. Even though she was sure that the driver was professional some things were more intimate or private. "Is your favorite drink still that fruity monstrosity or have you graduated to something else?"

Not that she needed to lean so closely for that. Or inhale Emma's perfume so deeply.

Emma just laughed, shaking her head a little while leaning towards Jean ever-so-slightly, “I’ve graduated a little,” but not entirely. She drank martinis more often now, purely because she was fond of the sharpness, but the ‘fruity monstrosity’ was mostly a secret. But then, she’d started drinking with Jean, those sneaky evenings dressing themselves up a little older and drinking things with more sugar than alcohol.

“But I might indulge in a little nostalgia for old times sake.” Because it was ridiculously easy to simply let go and forget the years of distance. “Provided you don’t start any pissing contests. We don’t need men fighting over you all night.”

They were good memories. Pretending they were more adult than they were. And now they were pretending they were less adult than they were. The irony wasn't lost on Jean, but it was also appreciated. She flashed a smiled at Emma, then pressed her hand to her chest. "Who? Me? My dear Emma I don't know what you're talking about."

Of course she did, but she had to add, an almost flirtatious lilt to her voice. "You'll have my full attention this evening."

It was such a darling concept, wasn’t it. Undivided attention. Emma knew a few things she could do with that, certainly. The nightclub itself was fairly upper class, aside from the gaudy neon sign and the department bought bouncers, Emma just smirked at Jean as her driver opened the door for them at the front of the line to enter and, as everything in Emma’s life, she skipped to the front.

“I’ll remind you of that later, darling.” A sly smile for the bouncer was all Emma spared as she took Jean’s hand in her own to lead her through the opened iron and glass doors. The club wasn’t packed, just sensibly busy with very upper class people in fancy outfits and decidedly gorgeous people mingling with them. “Drinks are on me, sweetheart. So you just enjoy yourself.”

The bouncers were intimidating, and if Jean wasn't a stubborn person they might have intimidated her a little more than they did. At least they were on their side - she'd hate to be someone getting bounced out, it looked like it might be painful.

She stepped out of the car like a movie star, though her heart raced a little when Emma took her hand to lead her inside. It wasn't like it meant anything.

It was less loud than she was afraid of - with her sudden headaches that was the only part she hadn't been looking forward to. But she'd packed the strongest tylenol she could buy, just in case.

She thought she heard someone compliment them, but when she glanced in that direction it was clear that no one had actually spoken, at least out loud. Jean swallowed her alarm at that, and returned her focus to Emma and the promise of drinks. "Hopefully not literally on you. We wouldn't want to ruin that dress."

Eyebrow quirked, more than ready to comment on the unimportance of her dress, which might’ve had a steep price tag, but it wasn’t like Emma really bothered with such things, she just gave Jean a small smirk before they made their way towards the bar. Elbows perched, her perky boobs squished together to get attention instantly, Emma handed over her card with a decidedly seductive smile, “My friend and I would like our glasses to never be empty,” and the promise of a decidedly large tip would naturally ensure that.

“I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” because she was feeling a little less on the sweet side tonight, “Jean, darling?” Between her boobs and Jean’s striking features, they weren’t a forgettable pair, Emma had no worries that they’d in anyway be empty handed.

Jean just smiled at Emma, completely innocent, like she hadn't had other thoughts about Emma being peeled out of a wet dress. Of course, Jean had been unsuccessfully struggling to ignore her increasing attraction to her old friend. It had always been there, but she'd thought it was just a crush. She didn't want things weird between them, though, so she was going to keep that to herself. She was happy enough to have Emma's presence and maybe they'd even graduate back to cuddling on the couch like the old days. Small victories?

She leaned her hip against the bar, cocking her head in a way that emphasized her neck and her cheekbones, Jean considered the menu. "You know what, that sounds fine for me too. I'm not too picky tonight."

Not too picky? Well, that would work out for them fine. There was no need to go attracting men, although they were both dolled up for a good little evening out, not for the gratification of the opposite sex -or same sex, depending on moods.

Taking the mixed up drinks, Emma offered a small smirk before glancing away from the bar. There was a dancefloor off to the far end of the room, a winding staircase that led to a platform above the stage where the DJ was currently playing, lined with large comfortable seating -very high class, nothing like the awkward and stiff stools of most bars.

“Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Ms. Frost.” Jean nodded her head, then casually let her hand rest on the small of Emma’s back. Purely to not lose her in the crowd, of course. Not because her hand burned where it made contact with Emma’s skin. “I’d rather sit up there.”

Navigating the stairs might be a problem later, but right now she didn’t care. As long as she had a good drink, and Emma. And dancing.

Emma knew that by the end of the night her shoes would likely be off to get down those stairs, but right now it was terribly easy to flaunt her way up them, one hand twisting around her back to grab the tips of Jean’s fingers from her back as she ascended. The view was better, and maybe the bar tenders would need to check a little better to keep them topped up, but that was the point of huge tips, special treatment.

The fact that most eyes trailed them up the stairs to the lounge chairs was just a small bonus. “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had an expectation free night out,” since no one was looking for her to prove anything or pitch something, just her and Jean and some fun. “You remember that we’re letting our hair down, right? Figuratively at least.”

Emma’s hand only made Jean’s pulse spike at the contact and she trailed her fingers in a little circle on her back. She glanced at Emma as they reached the lounge chairs, and when she sat down it was probably a little closer than necessary, her knees touching Emma’s.

It was with great reluctance that she moved her hand from Emma’s back. “I just hope we can remember how to let our hair down. I guess we’ll find out on the dance floor.” She couldn’t wait.