“I’m just saying, my favorite part of clubbing is normally the part where I go home and crawl into bed,” I shout in Michelle’s ear, grimacing at the sight of the writhing bodies on the dance floor. I don’t recognize this awful bass-heavy song, and it smells like spilled alcohol and sweat in here.

“Oh, shut up,” she says, shoving me. “This was your idea, Claire.”

“Life is full of regrets.” I squirm in my black dress, which is so tiny that I’m having a hard time keeping my butt and nipples covered at the same time.

It’s nearly midnight and I’m normally in bed by now. I wistfully imagine putting on PJs, scrubbing off my makeup, and sliding between the sheets in the cool silence of my apartment.

But I did have a goal for tonight, and I should stick this out, right? After that dumpster fire of a breakup last week, it would be healthy and invigorating if this night would end with me naked in someone else’s bed. I want to feel wanted, even if it’s just a fling.

“Chad, eleven o’clock,” Michelle shouts in my ear as we push through the crowd toward the dance floor.

It’s hard to miss the guy she’s talking about. He’s built like an athlete, his chest and arms straining his black V-neck tee. His neck is as thick as his bicep. Based on his blank expression, he also looks like he has the IQ of a potato.

“Maybe,” I say, my tone wavering. I did specify that I was after a one-night stand, not a relationship, but something about him isn’t doing it for me.

“No gym guys? Do you want an intellect instead?” Michelle pulls me to the left. “Here, business major, straight ahead.”

Beyond a squealing bachelorette party, there’s a guy in a suit. I’m not sure if that means he’s an intellectual or just trying to give off that vibe.

“I don’t know,” I say, crossing my arms. “None of them are sparking anything.”

Yeah, I’m being difficult, but I’m not sure what I want and I’m not sure who here will want me back. Something about being among all of these single men is making my skin prickle with nervous sweat.

“That’s fine,” Michelle says brightly. “That’s normal after what you’ve been through. Do you want a shot?”

Bless Michelle and her undying support.

My expression must say “yes” because she takes my hand and pulls me toward the bar. She’s dressed like a bombshell with bright red lipstick to match her red dress, her straight dark hair glinting in the light. I guess I look good too, but I rarely wear dresses, and I’m compulsively touching my chest to make sure a boob hasn’t popped out. My stilettos also aren’t going well today, and I’ve nearly twisted my ankle several times. At least my curls are cooperating and the brunette box dye turned out nice.

Michelle orders us tequila and we shoot it back. We pre-gamed for three hours while we got ready, so I’m already buzzed.

While Michelle pays, I rub my forehead, careful not to smudge my makeup. Why is it so hard to be here right now? Shouldn’t I be ready to rebound after a week of sulking over Curtis?

I guess I miss him more than I thought—which is infuriating because he broke up with me the day before Valentine’s Day. Who does that?

Ugh, men.

Maybe that’s my problem tonight. I’m here looking at men but I’ve got too many bad feelings about the last one I let into my life. I’m expecting them to be like him, douchey attitude and all.

“We should’ve gone to Cellar,” I admit, thinking longingly of the club full of queer people three blocks away. “I don’t think I want to be with a guy tonight.”

“Okay,” Michelle says with enthusiasm. “The night is young. Wait here and I’ll get our coats.”

I crack a smile. “Have I told you I love you?”

“Love you too, bitch.”

She disappears into the crowd.

Two people from the loud bachelorette party step up to take her place at the bar, and I move over to give them room.

“You owe me something strong,” one says. “I can’t believe I just watched male strippers. That’s forever in my brain now. Burned. Seared. Tattooed on the back of my eyeballs.”

“Don’t lie,” the other says, a blonde in a pink sash. “I saw you smiling.”

“That was probably the moment I remembered we were going for donuts after.”

“Can you at least appreciate it as an art form?”

I’m laughing. I can’t help it.

The upset one turns around to face me, and—oh my. My heart does several backflips.

“I bet this girl agrees,” the blonde says, seeing me look over. “Tell my friend Lou they’re being ridiculous and strip shows are an art form.”

“Mm, I think I’d find it unbearably awkward to watch and would hate every second of it,” I say, and the one named Lou grins.

The blonde scoffs and turns her attention to waving down the bartender.

I can’t help staring. Lou is breathtaking, with light brown skin, dark hair styled in a thick pompadour, a strong jawline and razor-sharp cheekbones, and bold eyeliner. They’re in a white button-down shirt that reveals a peek of cleavage, a loose black tie, open blazer, tight trousers, and loafers. It’s an unconventional fashion statement for a bachelorette party, and hot damn.

“I’m Claire, she/her,” I say, melting under the heat of their smolder. “And I’m sorry for your suffering. I would’ve died being forced to watch a strip show.”

They lean against the bar, getting closer. “Lou, they/them. And thank you. There was some helicoptering, and now I have to get fall-down drunk to erase it from my memory.”

I don’t even cringe at the helicopter thing because I’m so busy trying not to swoon over the sheer amount of confidence oozing from Lou.

Maybe I was too quick to say we should leave this club. If there is even the remotest chance of tonight ending with Lou on top of me, then we are definitely staying.

I’m about to ask how the bachelorette party’s going when the blonde waves her phone in Lou’s face. “Rebecca just texted and said they’re doing a group photo. Come on.”

Crap. This might be a little harder than I anticipated.

Part 2 coming tomorrow! Read the full story right now on “Sweet & Spicy Sapphic Stories” at patreon.com/tianawarner. Plus you’ll get early access to next week’s story.