Not really

The second drink hit harder than the first.

Nina’s laugh bounced off the glass behind the bar as the group of women at their table dissolved into a mess of shot glasses, tequila salt, and flirty dares. There were seven of them—maybe eight?—Emily had lost count somewhere between the “naughty quiz” and the round of Never Have I Ever that had revealed way too much about Nina’s soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Emily smiled, laughed when she was supposed to, but she wasn’t in it. Not really. These women were tight-knit, high-energy, decades removed from stretch marks and diaper bags. They complimented her—her hair, her blouse, her boobs, yes—but it was surface. Polite. Like seeing your high school classmates years later and pretending to remember what you all had in common.

By the time Nina launched into a story about a “psychic orgasm” she’d had during yoga, Emily had discreetly checked her phone three times and finished her drink twice.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” she said, sliding off her stool before anyone could protest.

The hallway was cool, lined with dark wood and framed photos of vaguely coastal scenes. Emily walked slowly, her flats silent on the carpet. A headache buzzed behind her right eye, not quite ready to bloom.

She didn’t head for the elevator. Instead, she followed the distant pulse of music—bass-heavy, deeper than anything from their bar—and rounded the corner toward the main suite wing. Some room doors were cracked. Laughter spilled out. A flash of someone’s elbow. The clink of bottles.

Then she saw it.

Suite 619. The door wide open, men inside cheering, laughing. Shirtless, barefoot, one in a loose blazer, tie undone. Pizza boxes stacked on the desk, empty beer cans lining the floor. The smell of cologne and whiskey in the air.

One of them looked up and blinked.

“Ohhhh shit,” he grinned. “Did the girls send us a stripper after all?”

Emily blinked, surprised, but smiled.

“Uh, no. Wrong room.”

“Wait, wait—come in!” another said, waving her inside. “Our dancer bailed. You’d be saving a dying party.”