I thought about standing up, walking away, jostling him with my shoulder as I did so he would go toppling to the floor. Making my way out the front door, hailing a cab. Going home, where my mother would be asleep in front of the TV. But then I thought, in my drunken, imprecise way, about Matthew. Telling that story to Clara had dredged up the old desire to impress him, the man to whom stories were the highest form of currency—mostly because he already had everything else. What would it feel like to lean into this moment? To let these men use us. To see what Clara was talking about. Maybe there was only one way to really know.

“Thanks for this,” I said when the fresh drinks came. This time, I angled my chest toward him, like Clara did, and let my fingers brush the top of his arm. Why not? I thought. Maybe recklessness wasn’t reserved only for men.

“Aren’t you friendly,” he said, looking at my lips, then at my chest. I was still fighting the urge to wriggle away. His shirt needed washing and I could smell acrid smoke, the tang of body odor. I could also feel Clara’s eyes on me, even as she giggled. I wanted her to watch.

“So where are you from?” I asked. It was a misstep, I realized as soon as I said it. These men came here to feel big: They didn’t want to think about whatever was waiting for them back home. The sagging gutters, the faded paint, the bills, the soul-deadening jobs.

“Avondale, Pennsylvania.”

“I hope you’re having a fun trip.” I tried to make my voice breathy. “Did you do well at the tables? What’s your favorite game to play?”

“I like poker mostly. Blackjack here and there.”

“I’m no good at any of those. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

“Probably could. It’s harder than it looks.”

I touched his leg. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes, indeed.” He swallowed, looked at me as though trying to measure something.

“Hey, so uh, we’ve got a room upstairs.” Rob leaned over me to Clara. “Isn’t that right, Luke?” I stared down at Luke’s forearm, braced on the bar for balance. Even his arm was flushed. “Plenty more to drink. Not quite so crowded. Keep the good times going.” His pores were giant and there was sweat gathering at his temples, glistening under the bristle of his hair.