28
By the time Amanda stepped into Tipsies, the music was already pulsing through the floorboards and wrapping itself around her like a familiar, reckless friend.
The bar was busy but not packed, the soft neon lights casting a warm pink glow over the crowd. She spotted Samantha immediately—already perched on a barstool with two drinks in front of her and a smug expression that screamed I told you so.
"You're lucky I like you," Amanda said as she slid into the seat next to her.
Samantha slid a drink toward her. "Correction: you're lucky I know you. I knew the second you texted me you were deep in your feels."
"I'm not in my feels," Amanda muttered, taking a sip. "I'm just... decompressing."
Samantha arched a brow. "Decompressing from the intense gravitational pull of a very attractive, very complicated boss?"
Amanda groaned. "Don't start."
Samantha grinned. "Oh, I've already started. I'm three sips in and ready to unpack everything."
Amanda didn't respond right away. She stared at her drink, swirling the ice as the music thumped gently in the background.
"She watched me," she said finally.
Samantha leaned in. "Like... in a weird way?"
"No," Amanda said, shaking her head. "Not weird. Just... long enough for me to notice. Long enough that I knew she was thinking something, but she didn't say it."
Samantha's voice softened. "You didn't say anything either, did you?"
Amanda looked up. "What would I even say? 'Hey, Ericka, just wanted to point out the intense eye contact and unspoken emotional tension we've been sharing lately. Should we circle back to that in the next team meeting?'"
Samantha burst out laughing. "Please say it exactly like that next time."
Amanda sighed, but she was smiling. "I can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Walking this weird invisible tightrope. She keeps pulling me in and pushing me back without ever actually crossing the line. And I don't know what's real and what's just... her being Ericka."
Samantha gave her a long, thoughtful look. "So why don't you find out?"
Amanda blinked. "Find out?"
Samantha nodded. "You don't have to throw yourself at her. But you could ask. You could give her a little nudge. If it's nothing, you'll know. If it's something..."
Amanda stared at her. "If it's something, it could blow up everything."
Samantha shrugged. "Or it could change everything."
Amanda fell quiet again, letting the music and chatter fill the space between them.
She wasn't sure if she was ready to risk what she had for what she thought might be there.
But the truth was—
She wasn't sure she could keep pretending it wasn't there either.
Samantha bumped her shoulder. "In the meantime, let's dance."
Amanda smiled, downed the rest of her drink, and stood.
"Lead the way."
The dance floor at Tipsies was buzzing with energy, the music loud enough to drown out thoughts—and that was exactly what Amanda needed.
She moved with the crowd, letting the rhythm carry her. Samantha was in front of her, dancing without a care in the world, mouthing along to the lyrics and hyping Amanda up with dramatic hand gestures and the occasional spin.
Amanda laughed, loosening up more with every passing beat. The music, the lights, the crowd—it all worked like a temporary balm, blurring the edges of everything she'd been trying to forget.
For the first time all week, she wasn't thinking about the office. Or work. Or—
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
She almost ignored it. But something—intuition maybe—nudged her to look.
She pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a single message.
Ericka: Hope your weekend's off to a relaxing start.
Amanda blinked.
The message was short. Harmless, even.
But coming from Ericka? At nearly 9:30 on a Friday night?
It wasn't nothing.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, her heart doing that annoying skip again. She didn't know how to respond.
Before she could even think, Samantha peeked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse.
"Tell me that is not who I think it is."
Amanda quickly locked the screen, tucking the phone back into her pocket. "Don't start."
"Oh, I'm not starting," Samantha said, raising her brows. "She already did. Miss Ice Queen doesn't just send texts like that for fun."
Amanda shook her head. "It was just a message. She was probably being polite."
Samantha scoffed. "Amanda. She's a lot of things. Polite small talker is not one of them. That was a pulse check. She wanted to see if she's still in your head."
Amanda turned away, focusing on the music again. "She didn't need to check."
Samantha's smirk grew wider, but she let it go. "Then dance it off. Pretend it never happened."
Amanda tried.
She swayed with the music, let her body move like it had before, but the message sat in the back of her mind like a flickering light she couldn't turn off.
Because the truth was...
Ericka was still in her head.
_____________________________________
Tipsies had started to thin out by the time Amanda and Samantha finally left. The buzz of music still pulsed through Amanda's body, her limbs loose from dancing, her mind foggy from just enough tequila to feel everything a little softer.
The warm night air hit her as they stepped outside, and she tilted her head back with a slow exhale.
"That was exactly what I needed," she said, stretching her arms over her head.
Samantha, heels in hand and makeup still perfectly intact, grinned at her. "Told you. Tipsies cures all."
Amanda laughed. "Almost."
They started walking, the street quiet except for the occasional car and the distant sound of someone laughing from a nearby patio.
Samantha nudged her gently. "You gonna text her back?"
Amanda didn't respond right away. Her fingers were tucked deep into the pockets of her jacket, like if she kept them there, she couldn't give in to the temptation.
"I don't know," she admitted. "What would I even say?"
Samantha shrugged. "Something casual. Or not. Maybe just... honest."
Amanda glanced at her. "Honest and I aren't on the best terms right now."
"Then maybe it's time to change that."
They reached Amanda's building too soon. She didn't realize how much she didn't want to be alone until they were standing at her front steps.
Samantha turned to her, softening. "You okay?"
Amanda nodded, then offered a small smile. "I will be."
Samantha reached out and gave her a quick hug. "Text me if you need to overanalyze something again."
Amanda chuckled. "You mean in the next fifteen minutes?"
"Exactly."
Amanda stumbled into her apartment, keys clattering onto the kitchen counter as she kicked off her shoes with zero coordination.
Her head was buzzing—too much tequila, not enough water, way too many feelings.
She spun in a slow circle, trying to remember what she'd come in here for. Water? Pajamas? A snack?
Nope.
Apparently, what she wanted was her phone.
She flopped onto the couch, legs half-hanging off the edge, her dress wrinkled and eyeliner a little smudged. But none of that mattered, because the second her eyes landed on Ericka's name, her drunk brain went, you should text her.
"Bad idea," she muttered out loud. "Terrible, horrible, no good—"
Her fingers were already typing.
Amanda: Soooo I'm drunk.
She stared at the screen. Nodded once. That felt like important context. She continued.
Amanda: Like... really drunk.
She rolled onto her side and squinted at the letters, trying to make sure she wasn't typing in complete gibberish. So far, so good.
Her thumb hovered. Her heart thumped. But she kept going.
Amanda: And I maybe feel a little lonely.
She hesitated.
That was real. Too real?
Maybe.
But drunk Amanda wasn't stopping now.
Amanda: You should come over.
Then—like a complete maniac—she sent one more:
Amanda: Unless that's weird. Then ignore me. Or don't. I'm gonna stop typing now. Probably.
Send.
Amanda stared at the messages in horror for a whole ten seconds before groaning into her couch cushion.
"Delete my hands."
The silence that followed was brutal. Torturous.
And still, despite her embarrassment, her heart beat a little faster...
Just waiting.
Because drunk or not, alone or not—she meant every word.