Page 5 of Net and Chill

“Good evening.” I lean against the bar, keeping at least a foot between us. Don’t want to crowd her like I did this morning.

She smiles and leans in toward me the tiniest bit, but I notice.

Hot.

I slide the bartender a hundred-dollar bill when she comes over, ask her to take as many pitchers of beer over to Winnie’s group that this will cover if she keeps a twenty-dollar tip.

When I glance back over at her Bridget says, “I want you to know that I made a lot of progress on your pants today.” She says it defensively, with a hint of playfulness, which is very cute.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I worked on your seat gusset. I took your suits home with me to work on, but my friend Penny, who’s a nurse, only gets, like, one night off every two weeks, so she dragged me out. And now she’s gone home with a gentleman whose name is Stewart, I believe?”

“Good for Stew. Tell me more about how you worked on my seat gusset.”

She lowers her head as she laughs. “I sewed a piece of fabric into the inseams.”

“Ah. Sounds like my suit pants got to have all the fun.” I don’t have to look to know that the guys are watching us. I know they aren’t going to chirp at me for talking to a girl instead of having one drinkwith them. They’ll do that when we’re in the locker room or a group chat. They’re assholes, but they aren’t rude to women.

“You getting a drink?” she asks.

“No, I’m not staying.”

“Was it something I said?” She smirks. “I was about to leave too, actually.”

“Was it something Ididn’tsay?”

She tilts her head, studying me as she slides off the stool. “You really don’t say much, do you?”

“Don’t I? There’s a lot going on in my head all the time. Some of it makes it out, most of it doesn’t.”

She nods slightly, still reading my face. It’s like she’s always measuring me. “Yeah. I get that.” We both start to head toward the exit, but I feel her hand on my arm and hang back. “Oh, do you… Should we… I mean…” She looks embarrassed.

“What? Did you drive here?”

“No, I’ll get an Uber.”

“I can drop you off somewhere,” I say.

“I’m just going home—it’s fine.”

“I insist.”

“Okay, thanks,” she says. “It’s just…I mean, I know we aren’t leavingtogether, but…should you maybe go outside first and I’ll use the restroom quickly and then meet you on the sidewalk?”

Interesting. She’s discreet. I usually hook up with tourists when I’m here. In New York it’s easier to slip out the back of a bar unnoticed, but most women want to be seen leaving with me. Ilikethis.

She notes my hesitation and says, “Never mind. It doesn’t?—”

“No, no, yeah. It’s your town. I’ll be out front.”

She smiles. “Okay, I’ll just be two minutes.”

I don’t bother saying goodbye to the guys, because my phone has been vibrating nonstop.

When I’m on the sidewalk, half a block from the bar, I pull out my phone. There are already forty-seven text messages in my group chat with some of the Icebreakers. I scan them, but there’s really no need to. This entire chat could be summed up in a few emojis.

COREY: Seriouskly dude You havent has one drink with us ans ur chatting up a girl