Because the bartender had enjoyed Brady’s tips all night, he thought he was doing us a favor by bringing two tequila shots with lime wedges perched on the rims.
Before Brady could object, I threw them both back, grinning around the lime wedge in my mouth.
He shook his head at me and mouthed,You’re a bad girl.
That had me laughing. I placed the lime back in the glass and pushed up onto my toes. “You like it when I’m bad,” I said against the shell of his ear. “Order me a water. I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” Then I smacked his ass and turned to go.
But Brady snagged my hand and reeled me back to him. Steadying my increasingly unsteady feet, he said, “Be careful, okay? I’ll wait for you right here.”
I nodded like a good girl, then made my way through the crowd to the bathroom, feeling buoyant and light—carefree in a way I hardly ever managed.
In contrast to the rest of the venue, the restroom was brightly lit by overhead fluorescents. There were several women gathered in front of the long, trough-like sink, adjusting their makeup or typing on their phones.
I found an empty stall, and when I finished up, I approached the sink to wash my hands. There was a woman next to me who was about my age, with long blond hair and a smear of mascara beneath her eyes that said she’d been dancing and sweating as much as I had. She dug through her tiny bag and then gave a frustrated huff.
“Do you need a tampon?” I asked, apparently friendly now that I was feeling the effects of those shots.
“No,” she said, lifting her curls off her neck. “A hair thingie.”
“Oh, here you go.” I held out the black elastic band I kept on my left wrist.
“Oh my God. Thank you!” She threw her arms around me to show her drunken appreciation before accepting the hair tie.
I smiled back. “No problem.”
Drunk girls in bathrooms gave off the energy we should all strive for. The world would be a much better place if we all made connections like we did when we’d been drinking and dancing all night. So much hope and sisterhood.
“Are you here for the band?” I asked as she twisted the strands of her hair into a giant bun on the top of her head.
“Yeah, my boyfriend likes them. What about you?”
I wetted my finger and then went to work on my smudged eye makeup. “Yeah. Itseemed like a good time. The guy I’m with doesn’t know them, but he knew I did.”
I admitted that before I even meant to. The wonders of tequila.
“That is the sweetest,” she cooed.
“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” I confessed some more. “He’s like the friendliest guy ever. He gets along with everyone. I just left him at the bar for a minute, and he’ll probably be best man in someone’s wedding by the time I get back.”
The other woman laughed, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Right? I know exactly what you mean. My boyfriend is the same way. He makes friends on airplanes and usually ends up holding someone’s baby.”
We were still giggling when a gorgeous Black woman with a short floral dress burst into the restroom, stumbling a little. She appeared a little younger than me, maybe in her early twenties. Her cheeks were flushed, and her facial features radiated abject mortification.
“Oh my gosh, you guys,” she rushed out, like she’d known us her whole life and we weren’t just bathroom strangers. “I just crashed and burned so hard, and I’m not even mad about it.”
“What happened?” asked the blond woman beside me, and I had to admit, I was pretty invested too.
The newcomer approached the sink and looked between us before answering solemnly, “I came up to a guy at the bar and asked him to dance. He turned me down in the nicest way possible. He said I seemed like a sweet girl, but he’d finally tricked the love of his life into going out with him tonight, and he’s here with her.”
“Oh. Em. Geee,” squealed my new hair-tie friend. “That is adorable. Was he hot?”
“Yes,” she gushed, cheeks still a little flushed. “Crazy tall. Like six four. Nice brown hair. Bright blue eyes. A gray henley that did amazing things for his shoulders.”
I straightened as the tequila in my belly gave an unhelpful flip.
“The most gorgeous smile,” she continued. “He just seemed really friendly, you know. A good guy.”
Surely, she couldn’t mean . . .
