Take a chance on Rania

To build up my courage, I swiped back into the conversation with Luke, though I didn't give his message a close look.

And I knew what form the repayment of that debt would take. Whatever. If he proved to be piggish, more piggish than I was expecting, I could just block him and move on with my life. Assuming I learned anything useful from either of these mystery numbers. The chance remained that I would have to come crawling back to my businessman pal with more questions. Groveling is an important skill in this city.

Back to the call history I went.

I could feel Eden hovering beside me. She could be very chatty, the picture of sociability, on the right occasions. She also knew how to keep her mouth shut when she thought it was more prudent. Another trick of the trade. When you deal with strangers' egos a lot, especially rich and stuck up ones, you learned when it was best to observe. I hoped she wasn't thinking I would go crazy on her if she asked something. "There're two numbers in my call log," I said, tilting the screen in her direction.

She leaned in close. "Any idea who they are?"

"I feel like they're Rania and the guy we slept with. Luke said I was with someone named Alonso when we left the club. Him, I guess. But I don't actually know." Too many plates were up in the air. What I would give to know how something would turn out before I did it. Alas.

Eden nodded. "So, you're thinking..."

"Call her." If it was her.

She nodded again. "I guess that makes sense." That 'I guess' was troubling me, but I didn't know that it meant anything. When there are a thousand holes in your brain, you feel like a scary monster could jump out of any one of them at any time. An elegant metaphor, I know, thank you, thank you.

I felt better--by a lot--about the number I supposed was Rania. The same uneasy feeling that radiated around the corners of the memory of last night (and, wow, what a memory) was coming from the other number. If it wasn't our mysterious gentleman third in the bathroom, they were someone who was bad news, I could be certain. If that's the case, you shouldn't fuck him, sighed the judgmental voice in my head. I wanted to complain back, even though I knew the voice didn't come from anyone real, but it was a useful thing to remember. 'Bad news' was basically my type.

Tap the number. Put the phone to my ear. Listen for the ring. My usual nerves about making a phone call weren't the cause, here. I followed my sagely side's instructions to the letter and avoided eye contact with Eden.