Put your hand on her thigh and feel around.

You scoot over to the seat next to Tina. You look longingly into her green eyes, green like a patch of moss growing in a deep, dark forest somewhere far away. You want to feel closer to her.

“Listen,” you start, putting your hand on her thigh, her pleated skirt bunching up between your fingers. “ I want to make sure that you get home safe. Are you driving home?”

“I’m actually walking,” she says with a nervous smile. “It’s not that far, and I enjoy the scenery on the way.”

You begin to rub her thigh back and forth. “I really think you should let me drive you home, just in case you might fall again.”

“Oh I don’t want to be a bother,” she says as she looks at the people at the other tables anxiously.

“No, I insist,” you say as you move your hand to her bare knee, then slowly back up her thigh. Under the skirt. Slow. Soft, plump flesh. Further. She looks down at the table with a blank face. Is she thinking? What about? Further. The upper thigh. Fingertips on wet skin. Fingertips on cotton. Wet cotton.

“Okay,” you say as you stand up. “It’s settled, and I won’t take no for an answer, my damsel in distress.” You hold out your hand. She takes it. Her palms are sweaty. She has a thousand-yard stare.

You walk with her towards the exit, your hand firm around her small shoulders. You see a pink bag on the floor. “Isn’t this yours?” you ask as you pick up the bag in stride.

Tina stops in her tracks. “Oh gosh, please don’t look in there.” She blushes, but she doesn’t move. She looks petrified.