Lou looks at the ceiling. After enduring several bachelorette parties in my life, I feel their pain so hard. I wonder if the group forces Lou to wear a sash for photos.

“Cool,” they say valiantly. “But I want my drink first.”

“Oh ya,” the blonde says, like she forgot why they were at the bar. She turns back to the bartender and shouts her drink order.

“So who’s getting married?” I say, snagging Lou’s attention while I have the chance.

“My sister. I’m her Best Man. I mean, Maid of Honor, technically, but she knows me well enough not to use those words.”

“Wait, so you planned this evening?”

Lou cringes. “Penises, party games, limo, the works. And now here I am in a straight club when my friends are partying at Cellar without me, so…” They give a thumbs-up.

“Wow. Best Man of the year.”

“Right? Sis is lucky I love her.”

On Lou’s other side, Michelle squeezes through the crowd, coming back with our coats. She sees Lou talking to me and stops, eyes lighting up.

I try to keep a neutral expression as she points from Lou to me with her mouth open.

I nod a little, and she fist-pumps and backs away.

Lou glances back. “Friend?”

“Yeah. She’s my wingman tonight.”

“And how’s that going?”

I lift a shoulder, not sure how to answer. The uncertainty from earlier comes back—not feeling hot enough, not feeling wanted, not sure if going out tonight was the right call.

Lou shifts, brushing against me in the dense crowd. My stomach swoops at the contact.

“What are you looking for?” they say.

You, I think, blushing. “I’m just here to have fun. Getting over a breakup and wanting to do something wild.”

I meant it as an invitation to do something wild with me, but Lou gives me a pitying look. “Damn. Sorry to hear—”

“Oh my god, look at Frankie!” the blonde squeals, slapping Lou’s arm and pointing across the bar, where the other bridesmaids are obviously doing something rowdy.

Lou glances over, gives a two-note laugh, and then looks back at me.

“I mean, it’s fine, we should’ve broken up months ago but kept clinging to each other,” I say to Lou, desperately trying to keep our conversation going. “I guess he and I both thought we were going through a rough patch.”

“Ah, been there. You keep fighting, then apologizing without really meaning it, then having aggressive sex to make up…” The blonde passes Lou a drink, and the pause is just long enough for the words aggressive sex to loop in my mind. “…then you wake up the next day, and the tiniest thing gets you angry, and you pick up the fight where you left off.”

“Pretty much,” I say.

The blonde is paying for their drinks, and I have seconds left with Lou. Ugh, I have definitely not put my best foot forward. I wasted precious seconds talking about my breakup with a guy. Am I acting desperate and sad? Is this dress too hetero for Lou to have any clue that I’m queer?

I scramble for something flirty to say. Do I lean against them? Touch their arm? How does one make a “come hither” look, anyway?

“Well, it sounds like you do need a wild time tonight,” Lou says, lifting their drink and turning away. “Have fun! It was nice meeting you.”

Fuck.

I can’t believe I talked about being here for a rebound. What’s wrong with me? Lou is clearly worth more than that and doesn’t have time to entertain a mess of a human.

“Wait,” I say.

They turn back to me, and I don’t know what to say next.

Heat rises in my face.

“What—what kind of drink did your friend get you?” I say, scrambling.

They sip it, contemplating. “I think it’s a Long Island Iced Tea.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. Time to get smashed.” Lou lifts their glass in a toast, then turns and disappears through the crowd.

Yep, I’m a hopeless idiot.

Slumping, I find Michelle and tell her about my failure to snag the hottest person in the entire bar. She cheers me up with another tequila shot.

“Probably not the best night for them to hook up, anyway,” she says sympathetically. “They’ll be too busy with the party.”

“I guess. Should we go?”

Michelle hesitates. I’m about to ask what’s up when the song changes to Single Ladies and she grabs my hand. “Nope. This is a sign we need to stay. Come on.”

I unstick my feet from the floor, where someone must have spilled a drink. “Fine. Where’s Chad at?”

We check our coats again and then dance for two hours, getting drunker by the minute. At some point, I grind on the intellectual guy and then casually ghost him before he thinks I’m too interested. I avoid Lou out of embarrassment, keeping tabs on where the rowdy bridesmaids are.

Somewhere around two in the morning, I stumble into the bathroom and stand by the sinks to wait for a vacant stall. It’s a graffiti-covered disaster in here, and two of the four stalls have no doors. This doesn’t stop the women ahead of me from using them while their friends stand in front as human shields.

The bathroom door swings open, letting in the ear-splitting noise of the music and crowd.

Lou walks in.

My heart skips a beat.

I’m trapped. And blushing.

“Claire,” they say in mock seriousness. “We meet again.”

“Lou. Did the Long Island Iced Tea do its job?”

“Well, I feel like this bathroom is at a fifty degree angle, and I just danced to Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy. So I’d say yep.”

I laugh.

We’re both sweaty and disheveled from dancing. Their gaze is unfocused and I’m leaning against the wall for support.

“Hey, I’m sorry I dumped my breakup on you earlier,” I say, my tongue moving faster than my brain. “That was not very flirty of me.”

They laugh, searching my face with a bit of confusion in their brown eyes. “Flirty?”

A woman walks in behind Lou and sighs dramatically when she sees the small lineup. She pulls out her phone and starts typing, long nails clicking loudly.

“Yeah,” I say. “Like, I should have batted my eyelashes and touched your arm or something.”

Lou says nothing, staring at me.

Someone comes out of a bathroom stall—one with a door—and I head for it.

Before I can shut the door, Lou races up behind me and puts their hand on it, stopping me. Their eyes are wide, their jaw slack. “Wait. When you say flirty—are you—interested in me?”