Free Cocktails in Chelsea by Nikki Moore

Cocktails in Chelsea
    Thursday
    Sofia Gold sighed as she stepped into the trendy bar on the King's Road. If she cared less about being polite, she’d be wearing her own clothes. Instead, she was tugging down the hem of the clinging, vibrant yellow designer dress Tori and Christie had wrestled her into and fighting the urge to pull the plunging neckline up a few inches closer to her chin.
    While showing off tons of leg and cleavage wasn’t her at all, she had to admit the yellow outfit didn’t look
too
bad with her long golden hair, which Christie had made her straighten. It was just a shame she was being slowly crippled by towering four inch high heels. They might make her short legs look amazing, but the balls of her feet were already aching and they'd only left the girls’ exclusive white-pillared, black-gated residence twenty minutes before.
    Of course she liked partying, enjoyed going out and having a laugh. After all skating ramps and riding the waves on her beloved surfboard couldn’t take up all of her spare time. She was also lucky enough to live in Bournemouth, and the coastal town had a great night life humming with stag and hen parties despite its reputation as the retirement capital of the south. The difference was, she usually went into town in tight jeans, mid-range heels at most and a cropped vest-top, not in outfits that felt designed to torture. Plus she drank at lively bars with the best, pulsing music and happiest, loudest crowd, not airy warehouse spaces with tons of lighting, exposed vintage-looking iron pipes and dark wooden floors packed with privileged and wealthy trust-funders.
    But Tori and Christie were Mum's best friend's daughters and she'd promised to make an effort during this visit. If she offended them it'd be a giant dinosaur bone of contention with her mother for years. The idea of being on the wrong side of her mum was scarier than the thought of wearing the outfit for the evening.
    'You look lovely, Sof,' Tori leaned close to whisper into her ear, 'but you would look better if you stopped pulling at the dress constantly. Just try and own it.'
    'Thanks,' Sofia murmured.
    It was good advice.
    Except.
    Except she felt awkward and out of place. It wasn't her scene. Everyone was on show, all the little circles of people air-kissing and studiously not watching each other while totally watching each other, there to be seen and talked about. What did she know about dressing in luxury brands and living it up with the glitterati in the capital? Nothing.
    'Come on darling, don't stand there gawping.' Christie grabbed Sofia's elbow, wrenching her from her thoughts and steering her around a couple of smooth looking guys in casually stylish jacket and jeans combos. 'Let's order some champagne. Despite being on the French Riviera at the moment, Mummy was so pleased you agreed to come that we simply have to make the most of it. She'll be very upset if she thinks we're not looking after you,' Christie continued sharply, her narrowed blue eyes bright against her English rose complexion.
    Sofia nodded, letting the other girl lead her to a high, round table with black stools set around it, glad to sit down and take the weight off her feet. Trying to ignore the way the tight dress rode up her thighs, she glanced across at the assorted wall-mounted optics behind the bronze-tiled bar, smiling slightly. She guessed it wasn’t so bad here, because although hanging out with friends with cold beers on the beach was more her thing, she had a serious soft spot for cocktails. The colours, flavours and varieties were amazing and she loved watching barmen create dizzying concoctions. There was something ridiculously sexy about guys throwing and twirling bottles around in that confident, competent manner they had. Although that could be less to do with their skills and more to do with her long-time crush on Tom Cruise. The late 80’s film
Cocktail
, though dated, was one of her older sister Isobel's favourites and