“Oh fine,” she says, lowering her hand. It goes back up when she announces, “Girl, you gonna get laid!”

I laugh and do my best to give her a high five that doesn’t completely embarrass both of us, but that’s really not why I’m here.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I tell her, “from what I remember of it, sex is pretty nice, but I’m really not looking for something like that right now.”

She nods awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess you’re—”

“Oh, who am I kidding? I’m an apple tree that needs to be plucked.”

“I thought we just agreed—”

“I know, I know. We really are terrible at that, aren’t we?”

“You said it.”

Annabeth finishes up her cigarette and we walk into Club Allen, the worst-named bar in New York and the only place in this world that Annabeth would rather be than Bali. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that’s she’s ever been to Bali, but I do remember her talking a lot about it.

Huh.

We’re twenty feet from the bar when I spot the group that Annabeth was talking about. It has to be them. They’re the only ones who look like escaped convicts.

Annabeth bounces over to them and gives them all hugs. I’m pretty sure she said they just met, but whatever. She’s rather friendly that way.

She points to me, obviously telling them something, but it’s too loud for me to hear what she’s saying, so I walk closer to the group.

“…I mean a long time,” she says. “Leila, we were just talking about you! Come have a seat. Rick, here, is going to buy you a drink. What do you want?”

Drunk in the middle of the day: is this my life now?

“I guess I don’t have to go back to work today. I’ll have a tequila sunrise,” I answer, eliciting a cheer for some reason.

The one that must be Rick—my clever deduction is due to the fact that he’s the one leaning over the bar, ordering my drink—has dark, shoulder-length hair and there’s a tribal armband only partially hidden under his shirtsleeve.

He’s really not my type. I’m more into the clean-cut gentleman, but now that I think of it, the only “clean-cut gentleman” I ever dated was Chad.

What the hell? I’ll see if there’s something to this Rick guy other than the tattoos and the somewhat unsettling look that he’s giving me as he hands over my drink.

Boy, he is really staring me down.

All right, maybe Rick’s not the guy, but I do feel like letting loose and maybe doing something stupid.

“So, what do you guys do?” I ask, scanning each of the four men in turn, looking for anyone who doesn’t look like they’d kill me in my sleep.

“Finance,” they all answer at once.

That explains it.

“We’re in finance, too,” Annabeth says.

“No we’re not,” I rebut. The tone catches the guys off guard. “I mean, we’re in brokerage, but that’s hardly the…” I trail off, realizing just how full of crap I am. If Annabeth and I aren’t in finance, what are we?

Annabeth just smiles and touches my arm.

“Will you guys excuse us for a minute?”

Four men with blank faces nod, startlingly in unison.

We get about ten feet away from the bar when Annabeth turns on her heel and asks, “What’s your deal? Those guys are totally into us.”

“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I guess they’re just not my type.”

“Yeah?” she asks. “What is your type, then?”

I shrug.

“I think I know what the problem is.”

“Yeah?”

If she has any ideas, I’m more than open to hear them.

“You’re scared,” she says. “It’s been so long since you’ve gotten yourself some strange that you don’t know what to do when it’s sitting right in front of you.”

“Strange is a pretty good way to describe it,” I say, looking over at Annabeth’s brood, not one of them speaking or showing any kind of emotion whatsoever. They’re just sitting there, staring off into what I’m nearly certain is nothing.

“You need to loosen up,” she says. “Now, drink that shit down and I’m going to order us some shots.”

“I didn’t really bring that much—”

“You’re a pretty girl in a bar,” Annabeth interrupts. “The last thing in the world you have to do is buy your own drink. There’s not a man in here that wouldn’t rather see you drunk, so chug that down and let’s get it started.”

“Get what started, though?” I ask, my adventurousness almost completely dissolved already.

“A nice, pleasant, one-hour relationship,” she says. “You need to get someone to clear out the cobwebs.”

“Cobwebs?”

“Right,” she says, “the rule. But you know what I mean. Just take a breath, will you? I’ll tell you what. Go over there and I’ll help you build some confidence.”

“They’re really not—”

“I’m not saying you have to marry any of them,” she says. “Just sit on the stool, drink whatever they buy you—I know you worry about roofies, but I promise, I’ll watch all your drinks, okay? Besides,” she says as she’s walking away, “something happens and we’re going over to your place.”

“What?”

She’s already back at the bar.

In response to something Annabeth is telling them, one of the men gives up his seat and motions for me to take it. Timidly, I walk over and sit down.

“All right,” Annabeth says, “who wants to buy this beautiful woman a vodka?”

My stomach churns.

“Not vodka,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. I’ve been getting that a lot lately.

“Fine, who wants to buy this beautiful woman a shot of bourbon?”

Rick raises his hand like he’s in junior high.

Maybe these guys aren’t so scary after all. Maybe they’re just idiots.

That’s better somehow, right?

“All right,” Annabeth continues, “so Rick, what do you think of my friend here?”

He blushes and looks away.

Yep. Not scary: idiot.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Go on,” Annabeth says. “Tell her what you like about her.”

“Well,” he says, “she’s got—”

“Don’t tell me, tell her,” Annabeth interrupts.

This has to be the most uncomfortable moment of my life.

“You’re very pretty,” he says. “You’re tall, but not too tall. I like the way your hair catches the light.”

His friends are laughing at him, but this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

“Okay, you three,” Annabeth says, pointing to everyone but Rick and I, “you’re coming with me.”

“I don’t—” I start, but Annabeth puts a finger to my bottom lip.

“You’ll be fine,” she says. “I’ll be right over there.”

She doesn’t indicate where “there” is, but I suppose I’ll live.

“Now,” she says to Rick, “go on.”

She leads the other three away and my shot arrives.

I down it without prompting, and Rick starts again.

“I don’t know,” he says. “This is kind of uncomfortable.”

It is uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, but I haven’t really had a man talk to me in so long that I tell him to, “Keep going.”

He sighs. “Well,” he says, “your hair reminds me of picking up chestnuts when I was a kid. I know that sounds weird, but—”

“It’s okay,” I smile. “Go on.”

“Your eyes,” he says, “I don’t know, they’re like really blue.”

Okay, so he’s no poet.

“One more over here!” I call to the bartender.

The barkeep brings me another shot and I down it.

Bourbon just might be my drink. I haven’t felt the need to vomit once.

“Go ahead,” I say.

“This is too weird,” he says. “We just met, and I’m sitting here going on like I’m Wilhelm Shakespeare.”

“You’re really not,” I tell him.

Really, he’s not. “Wilhelm” Shakespeare would probably know his own name.

“Why don’t we just sit here and talk,” I say. “Where are you from?”

After the initial fear, pity and revulsion, Rick and I actually start to hit it off.

He’s into foreign films, I’m into foreign films. Of course, he’s more Godzilla and kung fu while I’m more Amélie and 8 ½, but it’s something. He likes horse racing, and I like horses running free without someone kicking them to make them go faster.