Page 32 of February

“No problem,” Amina replied. “Maybe a drink another time while you’re in town?”

“Sure,” Monica said before she finished her third gin.

“Can I get your number? We can arrange it.”

Shit. Monica hadn’t thought that far ahead. Amina was pretty, age-appropriate, and probably not at all like the asshole of a woman who was downstairs with her friends right now. Monica shouldn’t even be thinking about Bridgette. She shouldbe taking Amina back to her hotel and topping her until the woman came beneath her.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Oh. Okay,” Amina replied.

Monica stood and walked down the short hallway in the direction of the bathroom. Not having to go at all, though, she wondered what to do when she arrived there.

‘Just give the woman your number, tell her to come to your hotel tomorrow night, and have some fun. It’s been forever. You need this.’

“You’re still here,” Bridgette noted.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Bridgette pointed to the door behind her. “Are you in line?”

“No, I…” Monica cleared her throat and looked down at the hardwood floor.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bridgette asked as she walked a little closer.

“Yeah, I’m good. You go ahead. I’ll just go back to the hotel.” She waved Bridgette on.

“Okay,” Bridgette said before she walked past Monica and into the bathroom.

A minute later, Monica still hadn’t figured out what to do about the woman who was waiting for her at the bar, and when Bridgette got done and walked out, she stopped, seeing her still standing there.

“Couldn’t hold it, after all?”

“There’s a woman at the bar. She’s very nice. Bought me a drink. But I wasn’t thinking, and now, I don’t know what to do,” she blurted out.

“Sorry, what?” Bridgette said as she laughed.

“She invited me to a concert.”

“Oh,” Bridgette uttered. “And you don’t want to go?”

“No,” Monica said, shaking her head.

“And you can’t just tell her that?”

“I tried. She asked for my number. I don’t want to be a jerk, but I also don’t know that I really want her to call me.”

Bridgette nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I see. Well, I can… I can help.”

“How?” Monica asked, surprised.

“I’ll pretend I’m really drunk, and you need to help me get home.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you know me. You can make up how, if you want. Just tell her you found me in the bathroom, and you need to help me get home.”

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