When her eyes open, she’s looking into mine in a way I’ve never experienced. It’s like she’s actually seeing me for the first time, really seeing me and she’s not put off. She’s not scared or disappointed.

She pulls back a little further and our lips are almost touching when I hear the sound behind me.

“Dane? Have you seen my panties? I can’t find them anywhere.”

“Well,” Leila says, pulling away entirely and patting me on the cheek. “I don’t see anything in your eye. You’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” I mutter; my eyes still intent on Leila.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Wrigley asks.

I turn and Wrigley’s standing there in the doorway to my bedroom, naked from the waist down.

“I’m not feeling so well,” Leila says, getting up, her eyes on the ground. “It’s nice to meet you,” she adds as she passes Wrigley and makes her way into her own room.

“Too bad,” Wrigley says. “She looked like she was ready to go.”

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Nine

Cold Turkey

Leila

I don’t think I’m going to be drinking again any time soon. At least, that is, as long as Dane is still living here.

It’s funny, but I never thought I’d be longing for that temporary amnesia I had after that night in the club with Mike. Given what happened, or almost happened, between Dane and me last night, I don’t think alcohol is the best idea.

Today’s the first day I’ve called in sick in my life.

It’s well into the afternoon, and I’m scared to leave my room. I can’t face Dane right now. Not after that.

There’s a problem, though.

I’ve had to pee for about the last hour, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to lie in here and avoid reality.

Usually, this is one of those times when I would give Mike a call and suckle from the teat of his folksy wisdom. Yeah, that’s what he insists on calling it when I go to him for advice.

I’d much rather just act like nothing ever happened in the first place.

Maybe that’s my in.

I get up and open the door.

Dane is in the kitchen, eating a sandwich, and I pretend that I don’t see him as I walk across the living room to the bathroom.

“Good morning,” he says, his mouth full and losing crumbs.

“Hey,” I answer, not looking over or slowing my pace.

A few minutes later, I’m on the inside of the locked bathroom, and I’m having that dilemma again. He acknowledged my presence, so he’s going to want to talk to me when I come out of here.

Maybe I can just stay in here.

I mean there’s running water to drink—from the sink, mind you. I’m not an animal. Well, no more than anyone else.

If I’d remembered to grab my phone, I could order pizza and Chinese food and have them come up the fire escape and deliver my sustenance through the smallish bathroom window. Yeah, I’m sure they won’t go for it at first, but I’m an excellent tipper. A pizza box wouldn’t fit through the window, but I can always have the guy pass it through piece by piece.

I could make a bed out of towels and have Mike run any personal errands that may arise.

Sure, I’ll run out of money pretty fast as I won’t really be able to work, but maybe I can have Mike bring over a laptop and try my hand at stay-at-home customer service.

For a bed, I can simply lay down some towels, making sure to double a couple up for pillows and, with the towels that are left, I can cover myself. It actually doesn’t sound half-bad.

My other option is going out there.

Out there where I’ve got at least five bosses, though I’ve only ever met four, who each make my life unbearable in their own special way.

Just outside this door, I’ve got a roommate that still bugs the hell out of me who I pretty obviously came onto just before his mostly naked sex-buddy popped her cooch out of his room in a pretty literal sense.

I’m in the bathroom for half an hour.

By now, as I haven’t had the shower running, I have yet another reason not to go out there. Now, not only am I the drunk chick who makes inappropriate advances on her womanizing roommate, but I can only imagine what he thinks I’m doing in here.

There’s a knock on the door about ten minutes later.

“Hey, you all right in there?”

“Just taking a bath!” I call back.

I know that we don’t have a tub. We have a standup shower.

“Oh,” he says.

It’s an excruciating amount of time before he says anything else.

“Okay.”

Maybe if I don’t flush when I come out, he’ll know that I wasn’t in here doing unspeakable things. Of course, that’ll only work if he’s standing near the door when I do flush. Otherwise, he’s just going to assume that I did, and when the hell did I become so damn neurotic?

I flush the toilet.

I have no idea why I flush the toilet.

Is it better for your roommate to think that you just spent half an hour in the bathroom doing… that, or for him to walk in and find an unflushed toilet with pee in it?

Am I the only woman who thinks about these things?

Oh well, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter anymore, and all I can really do is take a breath and hope for the best.

When I come out of the bathroom, I don’t see Dane.

Maybe he’s in his room, maybe he left. Regardless, I think it’s pretty clear he was out of flush-hearing-range.

I really need to get out more.

I’m almost back to my room when I hear him. I can hear his voice through his door.

At first, I start to think that his little biscuit is in there with him, but he’s responding to an inaudible second party.

I press my ear against the door the moment I hear my name.

“…kind of weird. I mean, last night, she was coming onto me and today, I don’t even know where to start.”

Great. This is just great.

“No, nothing happened. I mean, Wrigley came out of the room with her vag hanging out, but I really think she was going to kiss me.”

Wrigley is a stupid name for a person.

Of course, given the entrance, I’d probably think her name was stupid whatever it was.

No, Wrigley is a stupid name. Last name: That’s fine. First name: I mean, are you joking?

“Yeah, she was drunk. What does that have to do with anything?”

If I left the city today, I wonder if I could join up with the Amish. What’s the rule on that? Does anyone know?

“Yeah, whatever,” he says on the other side of the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours at l’Iris.”

I knew that’s the place he was talking about. He even pronounced it correctly.

I’m sure he’s going there to meet up with Wrigley.

Stupid, dumb-named, crevice-flaunting Wrigley.

Wait.

If he’s off the phone, what are the chances that he’s about to—

The door opens and I almost fall into the room.

“Leila!” he says, jumping back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I’m stuttering. Why am I stuttering?

“I got a bit lightheaded on the way back to my room. I drank way too much last night.”

I’m trying to look casual as I lean against the door jamb. I have a feeling that I’m not pulling it off.

“Yeah,” he says. “You were pretty out of it last night. Actually, I think maybe we should talk about that.”

“Why?” I ask, having no recourse left but pure denial. “What happened? I don’t really remember anything after I got home.”

“You don’t?” he asks.

It’s a plausible story, Dane. Just go with it, ya bastard.

“No. Why? I didn’t try to drive, did I?”

There is a difference between playing stupid and being stupid. I’m not sure exactly which I’m doing right now, but I’m fairly sure it’s somewhere in between the two.

“You don’t have a car,” he says.

Oh, just let me off the hook, will you? I’ve done really well pretending like I don’t hear every tiny, disgusting noise coming out of your room. The least you can do is just let me act like I never came onto you.