I give Ian my best coy smile. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m glad. Happy to be here.”

His grin widens, and he gives me total bedroom eyes. Admittedly, it’s really hot.

I could get used to this, I think.

Our night is almost too perfect. Ian and I make each other laugh. We talk about everything from cute dogs to world events. Best of all, he keeps the drinks flowing, consistently asking the bartender for refills whenever our glasses are almost empty.

Could it be this easy? I find myself thinking in my tipsy stupor. Could I have struck gold on my first night out? After my rough foray into dating apps the previous night, I want to weep with joy.

But then, of course, Ian drops the bomb.

“So,” he says, slightly slurring his words. “I have to be honest with you. I feel like we do have a great connection but… I’m not looking for anything serious. I’d love to keep spending the night with you, though, if you’re down for some fun?”

He nervously smiles while waiting for me to respond.

I swig back a cold glass of water and put it down on the bar top. Here I go. “That’s fine,” I say. “I just got out of a long-term relationship, so I’m looking for something casual, too. Want to head out?”

All the hesitation instantly disappears from Ian’s face, making me wonder if it was all an act. With a smirk, he says, “Sure. We can take an Uber to my place.”

Faint alarms sound in my head. I need to sober up.

“Great,” I reply. “Let me freshen up a bit in the restroom before we go.”

“Cool.”

As soon as I’m out of Ian’s line of sight, I lightly slap my cheeks on my way to the restroom. I might be feeling reckless, but that doesn’t mean I want to be too incapacitated to call for help if Ian turns out to be a serial killer.

The bar is completely packed, so I’m surprised there isn’t a line for the women’s restroom. In fact, bizarrely enough, the hallway leading to the restroom is completely empty. And it doesn’t take long for me to figure out why.

“You asshole!” a woman shouts, her words coming out slurred. “I should have known you—”

The distinct stench of vomit hits me like a thick, revolting wall when I open the bathroom door, along with the shrieks—and retches—of a woman in the innermost stall. I’m about to ask her if she needs help, when I hear another woman’s voice.

“I’m sorry things turned out this way, Gretchen. I really am—”

My ears twitch. I’ve heard that voice before, but where?

“Fuck you!” Gretchen cuts in.