When he goes, I hiss, "What the hell? He gave you his number."
"Of course, he did. We're the hottest ones in this boring place full of suits, and he is hot. Did you see his reddish hair? I like a redhead. And those tattoos? Divine. Now." She shifts, facing me fully. "Who were you texting? Boyfriend?"
I can't bring myself to tell her the sordid, pathetic truth, so I just nod.
Her eyes narrow. "Don't go wasting your youth on some boring guy who doesn't buy you raunchy panties."
"I don't want raunchy panties."
She looks me up and down. "No. You want to go all naked and bare down there."
"Ruby!"
"I'm saying play the field. Maybe not at the office because I can't find anyone worth banging and dealing with the fallout."
"Well, only because Mr. Dreamy doesn't work there."
She smirks. "No. He's behind the bar..." She gulps half her Manhattan in an unladylike way. It is strong to me, so I only take small sips.
The bartender places another two next to ours.
Ruby opens her purse, puts money down, and slides him a card. Then she ignores him to continue studying me. She points. "You didn't mean Mr. Hot Bartender, did you?"
"No. I got in the lift with some hot guy going down."
She snickers, and I send her a dirty look.
"And... you never told me my skirt was stuck in my waistband."
Ruby gapes.
She gapes some more.
When she finally gets her jaw working again, she leans in. "I would have noticed. Did you go to the bathroom or something after I left?"
"Yes, but?—"
"And your bag?"
"On my back."
She breathes out, finishes her first drink, and reaches for her second. "Well, at least that monstrosity is good for something. It hid your naked ass, girl."
"Shut up."
She smiles and leans on the bar, sipping her drink. "So, how did you find out?" Her eyes pop wide. "OMG, don't tell me. And by that, I mean do! Did the hot dude see your naked ass?"
"Yes." I push the word out, seething heat pounding in my veins. "And he wasn't very nice. He made a joke."
"Girl, he flirted? Did you flirt back, let him feel you up—no, of course not. You're not that kind of girl." Then she points at me. "Did you give him your number?"
"No. He left, probably snickering."
"And he doesn't work for Barwon?"
"Not unless he's the basement dweller."
She pats my arm. "Well, at least you never have to see him again."
