Last Call

A singular drop of sweat slid down the small of my back. I pulled the sticky hair off the nape of my neck for a moment, relishing the cool air against my skin.

In one fluid motion, I let my curls fall, swayed my shoulders, and raised my mostly empty glass into the air at the behest of the song blaring through the speakers.

Someone's hands found my waist.

Without bothering to see who they belonged to, I sidestepped, spun around, and found another empty spot on the dance floor.

I sipped at the last of my Diet Coke, relishing the coolness as it spread through my body. I'd stopped drinking an hour ago when my friends left. One more drink wouldn't have hurt me, but I also knew better than to get drunk alone.

Glancing at my phone, I noticed I only had a few minutes left before close. I planned to make the most of them.

I let the music consume me. Closed my eyes. Focused on the beat.

Someone bumped into me from behind.

A hand landed on my backside, conveniently disguised as an accident for just a moment too long.

With a frown and a sidestep, I moved on.

I was determined to enjoy the remainder of my evening.

Then came the unmistakable smack.

I spun around so quickly that my curls whipped across my face, but I couldn't place the culprit. My eyes scanned the people around me.

Women dancing in groups. Men standing with them looking uncomfortable. A few guys dancing like their lives depended on it. A couple of prowlers lingering around the edge of the dance floor.

No one looked guilty.

With no clear suspect, I started to doubt myself.

Maybe someone had just bumped into me again.

Maybe I was imagining things.

Maybe I'd had more to drink than I thought.

The song ended.

The next one would surely be the last.

I took a deep breath and let the music pull me back in.

Across the dance floor, my eyes met another woman's. She smiled. I smiled back.

For a verse, we danced together like old friends. We cheered each other on. She spun beneath my raised arm, and we laughed when she nearly collided with someone behind me.

How easy it was to make friends with drunk women.

She turned back toward her group. I turned toward the music.

And then a hand snaked around my waist. It slid down my side and onto my thigh.

I whirled around, knocking ice from my glass onto the floor. The man standing in front of me was a stranger. In response to my anger, he held up both hands and chuckled.

Choice words ran through my head. I could tell him to fuck off. Call him a creep. Educate him on consent. It didn't matter. The bar was loud. He was drunk. And I was just some woman he got to feel up on a dance floor. His face already told me he didn't care what I had to say.

Without a word, I turned away from him and walked off the dance floor. I didn't stop until I'd walked clear out into the night. Out on the sidewalk, I took a large, shaky breath, trying to steady myself.

Pulling out my phone, I started the tedious task of finding a ride.

Your driver will arrive in 11 minutes.

I sighed and leaned up against the brick building. I kept my eyes on my phone, occasionally glancing up to scan the street. People hadn't started pouring out of the bars yet, so only a few stragglers waited on the sidewalks. Smokers. People who'd gotten kicked out. Others just trying to get home like me.

9 minutes.

A group of drunk guys walked by. I kept my gaze low, careful not to make eye contact. They yelled obscenities at each other, pushing each other around.

I took a couple steps closer to the bar entrance where the light was brighter and more people were starting to exit.

7 minutes.

Someone whistled. All his friends laughed as they passed by. I kept my eyes on my phone.

5 minutes.

"Oh my god, hey!" I glanced up at the warm voice and saw my new friend from the dance floor headed my way.

She enveloped me in a hug. "Let me get your contact info! We should meet up again next time we're both out."

I smiled and put my number in her phone, learning her name at the same time.

My phone buzzed. Your driver will arrive in 3 minutes.

"Your ride almost here?" she asked.

"Yeah, almost."

She linked her arm in mine. "I'll wait with you."

Your driver is arriving in one minute.

Behind us, the bar emptied. The music had stopped, and the last few people shuffled through the door.

A car pulled up to the curb.

"That's mine."

She squeezed my arm before letting go. "Text me when you get home."

I smiled. "I will."