Page 17 of Reluctantly Yours

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It takes me a few minutes—twenty—to console the ladies about the loss of our assumed male exotic dancer. My pin the junk on the hunk game doesn’t go over as well as I thought it would after a real-life hunk of a man had been in our midst. I assured the ladies that they wouldn’t have wanted to see under his suit anyway. Titanium isn’t that thrilling.

During a titillating drinking game of Never Have I Ever, which I was thankful I didn’t have to participate in because of my limited sexual experience, I packed up all the party stuff, placed the remnants of the man cake in the refrigerator and took out the trash. I’ll return tomorrow to gather the cake and take care of any cleaning, thankful that I will be able to put a fresh set of eyes on the apartment before JoAnna will return Sunday evening.

An hour later, we’ve said goodbye to Lauren’s mom and Aunt Clara, and managed to pile into two Uber XLs headed to Bounce.

“Tell us more about the hottie in the suit.” Lauren nudges me in the back seat.

“Like I said, he’s my boss’s son and he was just making sure we had everything we needed.”

I want to be chill about the evening and the fact that I now have to be Barrett’s date at a business dinner, but the stress of throwing a party at JoAnna’s apartment has now been transferred into being Barrett’s date. It’s not a real date, just business, but that doesn’t make it any less disturbing that I have to sit next to Barrett and pretend that we like each other enough to go on a date. That’s distressing.

Lana plugs her phone into the sound system and we annoy the driver the rest of the way to the club with our off-key singing to Taylor Swift. Then, we file out of the vehicles and into the growing line in front of Bounce.

“I knew there would be a line, but this is crazy,” Lauren says, stumbling in her heels. I reach out to steady her and wave the rest of the group to the end of the line. “Is it always like this?”

“This is pretty normal,” I say, glancing down the line of club-goers.

I’ve been here zero times. I leaned on Jules for a recommendation. Also, an internet search for ‘Best Night Clubs for twenty-five-year-olds in NYC’ gave this one the best reviews, so here we are.

“I have to pee so bad,” Lauren says.

Claire sighs. “You should have gone at the apartment.”

“I did go at the apartment,” Lauren whines. “I broke the seal.”

I make a mental note to clean the main bathroom, too.

“Let me see what I can do.” Being an editorial assistant doesn’t translate to having any connections at a night club, but I am a girl and I’m in a flashy dress, so I hope for the best.

At the front door, there’s a man in an all-black suit checking IDs and a woman at a tiny stand with a tablet. My luck with hostesses and tablets is not great tonight, but I’m hoping she’ll understand Lauren’s predicament and let her pop in for a minute to use the restroom.

“Hi there, we’re at the back of the line and I was wondering if my friend could go in to use the restroom really quick. It won’t take a minute, she’s fast. We’re here for her bachelorette party and I’d hate for her to pee her pants. Well, it’s a romper, so the pee would probably just run down her leg, but you know what I mean.”

She stares at me a moment. “Hold on.”

I have nothing to do but hold on so I wait while she presses her hand to an earpiece and talks into her headset.

“Are you Chloe? Party of sixteen?” She taps on her tablet.

“Um, there are fourteen of us, but only one has to pee. At least that was the current status before I came up here.”

“Grab your party and stand over there.” She points next to the roped-off line by one of the entrance doors.

I do as she says, ushering the ladies up to the front, and ignoring the glares we get from the other patrons in line.

“Okay, Lance will check your IDs then Veronica will meet you inside.”

“Are we all going to the bathroom?” Molly asks. “I have to pee, too!”

“Apparently,” I say, handing my ID over to Lance. Once we’re all checked in, we walk in the front door to find Veronica, who is going to lead us to the restroom. It’s a service they offer, I guess, either that or they’re afraid we’ll go rogue and hit the dance floor when we’ve only been admitted to the restroom. Now that we’re inside, it’s going to be hard to go back out and wait in line. Crap. I should have asked if we could save our spots. We’re going to be at the back of the line again. Not that we moved up much in the two minutes we stood there.

Veronica leads us through the club and then upstairs. I’m confused when she stops in front of a low table surrounded by three plush loveseats.

“Where’s the restroom?” Lauren asks, her eyeballs floating.

“Down the hallway on the right,” Veronica responds. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be right back.”