"To hot girl Friday," she proclaims, pouring golden liquid into each glass with a steady hand.
"To new adventures," Lily adds, picking up her shot.
They both look at me expectantly.
For a split second, Ethan's face flashes across my mind. The Instagram photo, him proposing, that stupid vintage filter they used to make it look more romantic. Just six months to replace our entire history.
I push the thought away and raise my glass. "To remembering who the fuck we are."
"Cheers to that." Lily giggles as we clink glasses.
The tequila burns a clean path down my throat, making my eyes water slightly. I sink my teeth into the lime wedge, its acidic tang exploding across my tongue and chasing away the liquor’s lingering heat.
"One more?" Emily suggests, already reaching for the bottle.
"Trying to get us drunk before we even leave the apartment?" I laugh, but my shot glass slides across the counter toward her anyway.
"Not drunk. Just...optimally social," she corrects, as the liquid cascades into our glasses. "Besides, have you seen those drink prices? Since The Velvet Room was my idea, I'm buying the first round, this is just good economics."
"Can't argue with that logic," Lily says, fingers curling around her second shot. "Though I should warn you both, I get very chatty when I'm tipsy."
"Chatty how?" I lean forward, eyebrows raised. We've shared the apartment for a few months now, and while we've killed bottles of wine on the couch, we haven't witnessed each other in the wild yet.
"I have been known to make girlfriends in bathroom lines," she admits. "Once, in Bristol, I ended up exchanging numbers with three women I met while waiting for the loo. We still have a group chat."
"That's a superpower, not a flaw," Emily declares. "You never know when you might need emergency friends in a bathroom."
My phone buzzes again—the Uber is two minutes away.
"Last call," I announce, holding up my shot. "To bathroom friends and expensive cocktails."
"And to whatever else the night brings," Emily adds.
This time, the tequila goes down a touch smoother, still leaving that burn in its wake. I feel it spread through my chest, down to my fingertips, relaxing muscles I didn't even realize were tense. The anxiety that's been riding my shoulders begins to dissolve, replaced by a light, bubbly anticipation.
For the first time in months, I feel genuinely excited about going out. Not just going through the motions, not just showing up because I promised someone I would but actually looking forward to the night ahead.
"Uber's here!" Lily calls from the window. "Black Tahoe."
We grab our things—coats, small clutches just big enough for ID, credit card, lip gloss, and phone—and do one last mirror check. Emily smooths out her ponytail, I adjust one curl to frame my face better and Lily straightens the strap of her dress.
I take a deep breath, shoulders back, chin up.
"Ready to make some bad decisions?" Emily grins, linking her arm through mine and then through Lily's.
"Moderately questionable ones, at least," I agree, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face.
As we step outside, the December air hits me, but I barely register the chill. Between the tequila and the anticipation, I'm running hot. The Uber driver glances up as we approach, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly looks back at his phone to confirm the name.
"Charlotte?" he nods, opening the rear passenger door for us.
"That's me!" I smile and wave at him.
We pile in, a tangle of bare legs and perfume and last-minute lipstick checks. Emily gives him the address for The Velvet Room, then immediately leans forward between the front seats. "Can we connect to Bluetooth? My sister has an excellent going-out playlist."
Before I can protest that I most certainly do not have a designated "going-out playlist," the driver—Mike, according to the app—shrugs good-naturedly. "Go for it."
Emily's already grabbing my phone. "Password," she demands.
