Too close.

But over his shoulder I see Bridge grinning like a buffoon and already twirling away to give me space.

"I'm here with somebody," I shout over the music, shaking my head.

He shrugs, like that doesn't really matter. "Who? Your friend?"

"No, I'm in a relationship," I say louder, hoping he'll get the point.

His eyes brighten. The smile that looked handsome a moment ago turns to a leer that only looks more sinister as the flashing neon lights land on his face, highlighting his creepy interest. "Are the two of you dating?"

Ugh, gross.

What do I have to do to get rid of this guy?

But as soon as I ask the question, I pause.

What do I have to do? What do girls have to do when they just want a night to go out and dance without guys hitting on them left and right-when they just want to be left alone? And with that I have my column. Now all that's left is the research. So instead of grimacing and walking away, I meet his drunken stare.

Would lesbianism be enough to deter a determined man?

Only one way to find out.

"Yeah, she's my girlfriend, so..."

He licks his lips. I'm not even kidding. "Hot."

I swear the word threesome literally runs across his eyes, as though he's a human teleprompter willing me to make him an offer he won't refuse. And though that would normally have me running for the hills, I'm sort of morbidly intrigued. So I glance at Bridge, letting appreciation fill my features.

"I know, she's gorgeous, right? I'm a lucky girl."

"She's dancing with a guy..."

"It's a little game we play," I comment, shrugging. And I swear, he only glances at me with more interest. Note to self-telling a man you are only attracted to women? Not a turn off.

Question answered, I smile at him, sort of amazed at my own bravado, and walk over to Bridge. As soon as I'm close enough, she grabs my hand, pulling me over to dance with a pleading expression in her eyes.

"What a loser," she mumbles into my ear. "Save me."

And because she's my best friend, I do, grabbing her other hand and twirling her around, subtly moving her out of his arms and into mine so we can make a getaway. I can't resist looking over my shoulder as Bridge shimmies next to me, tossing the guy who asked me to dance a quick wink. He's practically salivating, staring at us in awe.

I can't help it.

I crack.

"What's so funny?" Bridge asks, looking around.

But I just shake my head, trying to keep it together. "Never mind. Let's find a new spot."

And we do.

But the same thing happens.

I'm not sure if it's the dress, my unusual confidence, or just the challenge of a girl who doesn't seem interested, but I've never had more attention from men in my entire life. I've also never had so much fun with it either.

"Want to dance?" a second guy asks.

I turn around, smiling meekly, trying to make my eyes as honest as possible. "I do, I really do. But I think I should tell you that I just found out I only have two months to live."

I expect him to walk away without another word. But he doesn't. Instead, he steps closer, close enough for me to get a whiff of his musky cologne, to notice the likely steroid-induced muscles making his shirt buttons strain, and the gel crusted into his hair. Total player. And he doesn't disappoint. He leans into my ear, whispering, "Then we better make tonight count."

What a line.

Note to self-imminent demise is intriguing to men, probably because it inherently means there is no commitment involved.

When the next guy comes up, I've already thought of three different answers. But he doesn't even bother asking me if I want to dance. He just grabs my waist and starts grinding up on me. So I decide on the meanest.

Stopping dead in his arms, I jerk my body straight and whip around, eyes wide. "I think I'm going to be sick." And then I grab the front of his shirt, letting desperation fill my features. "Do you know where the bathroom is?"

The jerk is already backing away when I clasp my hands over my lips, faking a dry heave. One blink and he's disappeared into the crowd.

Mission accomplished.

Bodily fluids? Works every time.

Though, I could explore that further. Menstruation. Diarrhea. There's a lot of great material to work with. I'm pretty sure just saying the word period would be enough to send a guy running for the hills. And for some reason, men act like women killed Santa Claus when we reveal that we don't poop roses and fart potpourri.

But now I'm in too deep.

The ideas keep coming.

So I leave Bridge on the dance floor, heading to the bar for another drink.

"Can I buy you one?" a guy leans over and asks.

I turn, flashing him my best smile. "That depends. Do you feel lucky?"

He grins back. "Always. Why?"

"Because I shot the last guy that bought me one," I deadpan.

He laughs.

But I don't. I force my lips to a straight line, trying to look as serious as I possibly can, and I don't blink, even as my eyes start to burn.

Slowly, his entire expression changes. The laughter dies on his lips as they curve into an O shape, shocked. The interest glistening in his eyes turns to fear. And he actually flinches. It takes everything within me to remain straight-faced as he stares at me for another second in disbelief and then edges carefully away.

Psychotic tendencies? Check.

"Well played," someone leans over and murmurs.

I turn, greeted by another good-looking face, this time blond with slightly boyish yet charming features. I'm on a roll tonight!

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently.

"You know," he volleys back. "Well played getting rid of that jerk."

Okay, so he knows I'm actively trying to repel guys, and what? He sees it as a challenge? Now I'm intrigued...

"Thanks," I say, smiling at him, wondering how I should play this one. But before I figure it out, my phone buzzes in my purse, distracting me. Thinking it might be Ollie saying he's on his way, I pull it out.

My heart drops when I see the name flashing across the screen.

John.

What in the world does he want? Especially at one in the morning on a Saturday? I'm pretty sure that between me, Bridge, and Ollie, the message was quite clear last weekend. Leave me the hell alone.

And I'm so annoyed, I answer the phone and say just that.

"Leave me the hell alone!"

The blonde sitting next to me at the bar deepens his grin, silently watching with amusement. I turn away because this time, I'm not joking around, and I don't want an audience.

"Skye, won't you just give me a chance? Won't you let me explain?" God, even the sound of his voice is annoying, so whiney and nasally.

"No," I retort. "I'm out having fun. Goodbye."

"Then I'll come-"

But I don't hear the rest because I hang up on him and shove my phone back into my bag, squirming, trying to shrug off the gross residue that talking to him leaves on my skin. Before the slimy ickiness fully goes away, two arms come around my waist, pulling me back into a solid chest. But I'm so not in the mood, and I spin, leaving no mercy for the blond guy I thought might be my first gentlemen of the night.

Alas, he's a pig.

Just like the rest of them.

Before I've even turned around, I'm already loudly exclaiming, "I have chlamydia."

But at the exact moment the words leave my lips, a sultry voice I recognize whispers one word into my ear. "Hey."

My jaw drops.

Because of course, it's Oliver Freaking McDonough, and his beautifully thick, dark eyebrows are currently surging into his forehead as his mouth falls open, shocked. "What?"

Oh dear god.

Can I disappear?

Just this one time?

"Did I miss something?" he asks slowly.

I mean really, can the ground open up and swallow me whole? Please? "No, I was just, I mean-"

He puts his pointer finger over my lips, grinning. "I'll admit, when I walked in and saw you standing here, I was insanely jealous. But now that I see what your style of flirting is, I know I have nothing to worry about."

I smack him on the shoulder, but don't protest at all when he slips his hands around to the back of my waist, pulling me closer.

"I missed you," he murmurs. "Chlamydia or not."

I roll my eyes. "I don't have-"

"I know," he teases. And then the tone of his voice shifts just enough to completely drag me under. "You look incredible."

I want so badly to give into the purr of his voice and the soft caress of his breath as it brings goose bumps to my skin. But I can't. Because Bridge is here, somewhere. And she can't find us like this. She just can't.

It takes all my willpower, but I step back and out of his arms, smiling a little sadly, because for the first time I get his point. All I want to do is have him hold me and dance up against me and help me forget that we were ever apart. All I want is for everyone here to see that we belong to each other.

"We should find Bridge," I shout.

He nods, letting me lead the way. But we don't have to search for very long because she's walking toward us with a delighted expression on her face.

"Mr. Hottie just texted," she chirps, wiggling her brows suggestively. "He wants to hang out."

Ollie cringes. "Do you seriously wait until I'm around to say these things?"

Bridge ignores him, turning to me. "Now that Ollie's here, do you mind if I head out?"

"No," I answer, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. I mean, I love her. But having Ollie and the apartment all to myself tonight is too good an offer to pass up. "Go, go." And then I glance briefly at Ollie, barely able to breathe as I take in the heat surging to life in his eyes. "I'm ready to head home anyway."

"Yeah, me too," Ollie adds, yawning convincingly. "I'm exhausted from my shift."

"Excellent," Bridge says, already walking toward the door.

We follow, putting her in the first cab a few minutes later and then hailing our own. When I get in, Ollie puts his arm across my shoulder, hugging me to his side.

"You know what the only thing better than walking in to find you standing there in that dress was?" he whispers, pressing his face close as his fingers dip beneath the collar of my coat, brushing against my bare skin.

"No," I murmur, barely exhaling the word. I can't think with him so close. The whole world falls away because his lips are only an inch from my cheek, and his other hand is slowly creeping up my thigh.

"It was knowing I'd get to be the one to bring you home and take it off of you."

Okay, yeah.

Not breathing.

And it's a good thing Bridge isn't with us. Because said dress hits the floor before we even make it to a bedroom.

I heard this theory about dej vu once, that it's God's way of showing you that you're exactly where you're supposed to be. Well...screw that. Because I refuse to believe this is what the man (or woman!) upstairs has planned for me. And if it is, consider me in open rebellion!