Around 1:00 a.m., I was lying in the center of my bed, on top of the covers, still wearing Jasmine’s dress. I had vomit in my hair and on my face and I didn’t care. My mind was still processing what had happened.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Jasmine and Carly were probably ready for me to pick them up.
Instead, I was greeted with a text from someone else. It was a photo of my Visa and a short message.
Everett: Want this back?
I felt something finally. It was the annoyance I was so familiar with. But why did he have my credit card?
Me: That’s stealing.
Everett: Nope. I paid for your drink and fourteen limes and the bartender asked if I was your boyfriend and I told him yes.
Me: That’s lying.
Everett: Yep.
The annoyance within me flared to a burn. And yet, something about this amused me.
Me: I did not have fourteen limes.
Everett: Well, that’s how many I was charged for. And I didn’t lie about that part.
Me: Oh, and you are not my boyfriend.
Everett: Thanks for clarifying. You’ve still not answered my question.
Me: No, I don’t want it back. Please, buy yourself something pretty at Tiffany’s. On me.
Everett: Wow, ten minutes of conversation and you can read me like a book.
Me: I don’t think it was ten minutes of conversation.
Everett: Are you always this contrary?
Me: I’m not contrary.
I settled back into my bed. The side of my lip twitched again. It was the oddest sensation.
Everett: Do you always run like a bat out of hell from bars?
Me: I always run from strange men.
Everett: Meet me for breakfast tomorrow. You can repay me for the fourteen limes with a greasy breakfast fit for a hangover. Wear tennis shoes, so you can run away with more grace this time.
Me: I’ll wear heels.
Everett: Of course you will. Schmidt’s. 9 a.m.
Me: Fine.
My reply was reluctant. Did I really want to have breakfast with him? I weighed the pros and cons and decided I would. More out of curiosity than anything else. He couldn’t be as scary in daylight. He’d stand out, in black. Like a cartoon character.
Another text came through.
Jasmine: Can you come pick us up?
She’d included an address. My annoyance flared up again. I suddenly remembered I was wearing her dress. I wasn’t going to change.
I showed up to the unsuspecting house fifteen minutes later. I’d thrown my puke speckled hair into a bun and had washed my face and brushed my teeth before leaving the apartment. Jasmine and Carly were sitting on the curb, in the dark. Carly was alternating between barfing in the street and hiccupping. I assumed the latter was causing the former. I sighed and opened the door to the backseat, pulling a grocery bag from the floor and hastily handing it to Carly. Jasmine was more sober than usual and eyed me carefully after we’d settled Carly into the seat.
“Is that my dress?” she asked, accusation thick in her voice.
“It is,” I confirmed, belting Carly in. I stood back onto the curb and looked at Jasmine with challenge, willing her to say something, anything. She squinted at me in the dark, as if she couldn’t figure me out.
In the end, she shrugged. “You can have it.”
“Good,” I answered. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s puke on it.”