A few more minutes go by and I’m trying not to be too obvious while eavesdropping to find an in on their conversation. It’s about the Kardashians. Not my forte. I angle myself toward them so people might think I’m part of the cool crowd. Part of any crowd.

My mouth goes dry, my heart stops and my breath catches in my throat when the unthinkable happens. A guy—a hot guy—staggers up to me, gestures to my chest and says, “Cool shirt.” He’s talking to me! He’s actually talking to me. Out of all the girls in this bar, he chose me. A wave of idiotic, giddy pride washes over me.

I blush, smile and glance down at my black T-shirt that reads ‘There are only 10 types of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don’t.’ Jackie told me to wear something sexy. Black is sexy, right? Being funny is sexy too. This shirt is a twofer.

His eyes don’t leave my chest while he sips his beer. He must be a slow reader. “Do you get it?” I ask him, trying to keep my tone un-insulting. He doesn’t have to be a genius. I’m searching for my first time, not my soulmate.

He puts his arm on the bar behind me and leans in close enough that I can smell the alcohol oozing out of his pores. I have the urge to scream ‘Personal space invasion!’ but I bite my lip and keep silent. My back stiffens and I lean away as far as I can until it hits the bar behind me. He pushes his thumb inside the sleeve of my T-shirt, massaging my biceps intimately.

His hot breath is on my ear as he pants, “You know what’d make it better? If it were on the floor next to my bed.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat and panic surges through my body. Sure, this guy is hot, but I don’t want this. This isn’t me. I pull my hands into my chest. “No, thank you.” My voice is shaky and it comes out a question. That only seems to encourage him.

He moves his other hand to my knee. Condensation from the beer he’s got pinched between two fingers seeps into my jeans. I feel violated by the cold, wet, unwanted sensation.

“What nice manners. I’d love to hear you say pretty please. On your knees,” the stranger croons into my ear.

I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to shove him away. I can’t. I’m frozen in place. He moves his hand up my thigh. My entire body goes rigid and my eyes go wide. I look to the girl next to me, silently pleading for help.

She sees the sheer terror on my face and snaps, “Hey, creep! Leave that poor girl alone.”

“I’m just being friendly,” the guy answers. He pulls away from me, a lecherous grin slashing across his face.

“Why don’t you go make friends with your left hand? I think it’s getting jealous,” she quips.