Bad Idea!

"It was a bad idea

Calling you up

Was such a bad idea

I'm totally fucked"

+++

"So... Do you wanna come in?"

The question was stupid. Of course she was coming in. Why else would she have gotten in the Uber back to my house when she lived downtown? But she had just been standing there, looking at me expectantly, and I didn't know what to say.

"Yeah," she said, and she whipped out her phone to scroll through Instagram, something she'd done every single time the conversation lulled during dinner (which had been often). I unlocked the door clumsily, my slightly-drunk hands fumbling with the key. When it opened, she stepped past me and sauntered in, giving me a great view of her ass, barely contained in a tight leather skirt. She may not have been much of a conversationalist, but that wasn't the top quality I was looking for in a Tinder date. I walked to the kitchen and dropped my keys and phone on the counter as she plopped down onto the sofa. She looked down, and her face illuminated with blueish light. With a sigh, I opened the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, taking a long swig.

"Do you want something to drink?" I asked.

"Do you have diet Coke?" She said, without looking up. I quickly scanned the meager options in our fridge to see if my roommate had any.

"No, sorry."

"Oh, ok." Silence. Again. God, why was I dragging this out any longer than it needed to be? We both knew the other was just looking to hook up. Who cares if she couldn't say more than five words to me without checking her phone?

In the back of my head, I knew exactly why I was hesitating. This was the first date I'd been on since the breakup- if you could even call it a date. It'd been months, and I still felt like I wasn't ready to get back out there, but eventually the horniness had won out over the self-pity. My roommate was visiting her parents for the weekend, so a few hours ago I'd swiped through Tinder until I'd found...

Oh god. What was her name? Shit. It definitely started with a T. Tiffany? I think it's Tiffany. Maybe.

I downed the rest of the bottle and dropped it in the trash, and after a moment's hesitation, went back to the fridge and opened the freezer, pulling out a half-empty bottle of Vodka. I took a swig and shook my head, letting the taste distract me from my thoughts. Before the thoughts had time to reappear, I stuck it back in the freezer and made my way to the couch, swaying slightly. I sat down on the couch next to probably-Tiffany and scooted closer. She scrolled a few more times, but then she put her phone down and looked up at me. She was very, very pretty, I had to admit. I tried to think of something to say, but thankfully she leaned into me and put us both out of our misery.

Our lips met, slowly and a bit awkwardly at first, but soon enough we found a rhythm. My hand tangled itself in her long blonde hair, and her hand slipped itself into the back pocket of my jeans. The horniness that had instigated the evening returned easily, and the drinks I'd had were smoothing out any of the hard edges I still had left. I pulled her closer against me, feeling her firm tits pressing up against my body as our tongues explored each other's mouths. My other hand found its way to her inner thigh and caressed lightly, up and down, slowly venturing up her skirt. My fingers brushed against what felt like a lacy thong and she broke away from my mouth with a soft gasp. I teased the fabric aside and slid my finger between her wet lips, and she let out a low moan. She opened her legs slightly, causing her skirt to ride up, revealing the hot pink thong that granted about as much coverage as her miniscule skirt. She reached up under my shirt and pulled down my bra, groping at my boob and tweaking the hard nipple. When I let out a low groan of approval, she swung her leg up and over, turning around so she straddled my thigh. Our lips crashed together again as she grinded her wet pussy on the rough fabric of my jeans.

"Oh god, Hannah," I moaned softly when we broke apart for air.

Instantly, everything stopped. She straightened up abruptly, her eyes narrowed at me, a complete 180 from the seductive look on her face just moments before.

"What the fuck did you just say?" She asked, more emotion in her tone than she'd shone all night. Probably the longest sentence she'd spoken as well.

"Uhh..." I answered lamely, having no idea what I'd just said. All I could think about was the fact that I had just been getting laid, and now I was seemingly no longer getting laid.

"Did you just call me Hannah? Who the fuck is Hannah?" Oh. Oh shit.

"Do you even know my fucking name?" Fuck. T. I knew for sure it started with T. Did it? Yes. It definitely started with a T, but the alcohol and her pussy on my leg and the angry fireballs where her eyes should have been and the tit that had popped out of her very low-cut shirt was making it damn-near impossible to remember any other letters of the alphabet. Apparently the look on my face was enough of an answer for her, because she clambered off my leg with an indignant scoff, pulled her skirt down, and snatched her phone off the couch. She stalked over to the door, tapping on her phone, stumbling a bit when she got there. Opening the door, she turned around and threw me one last glare.

"You're Venmoing me for my Uber," she snapped, and then she slammed the door behind her.

I sat in silence for a while, staring at the closed door, trying to process what had just happened. Eventually, my foggy brain caught up with reality, and I let my head fall into my hands with an irritated groan. I rubbed my face, unable to decide if I was exhausted or ready to jump up and scream. I let my hands drop and stared at the small wet spot on my thigh. What a fucking disaster. I was even worse off than I had been a few hours ago, because now I was not only alone and horny, I was all riled up. With a sigh, I stood up, unsure of what to do with myself. I wandered around for a minute or two, finally deciding to just watch some porn. At this point, I was too blue-balled to think clearly. Maybe once I got off I could go to bed and pretend this day had never happened.

I sat back down on the couch and turned on my phone, but instead of going to the browser, I opened my texts. I scrolled, realized I'd deleted the thread, and typed in her name. A new message popped up, and I quickly typed a text and hit send. Again, it took my brain a few seconds to catch up, but once it did, a surge of adrenaline stabbed through me. I shrieked and threw my phone onto the carpet, pressing my palms into my eyes. What the fuck? Why the fuck did I just do that? There's no way I actually just did that, right? Am I that drunk? Am I that moronic? Am I-

The phone buzzed. I slowly removed my hands from my eyes, staring at the phone at my feet like it was a live bomb. It was face down, so I couldn't see what had come in. I debated crushing it with my foot so I wouldn't have to know, but the same demonic possession that made me send the text forced me to pick up my phone.

Hannah

>r u awake

>depends who's asking

She'd replied. A rush of pleasure surged through me, but I quickly stamped it back down. It was a little before midnight, and she rarely went to bed before two, at least when we were together, so I'd figured she would be awake. I hadn't been sure that she would answer me though. I read the text again, and I could almost hear her saying it, her voice low and sweet and slightly rasping. Suddenly I had the overwhelming urge to hear that voice again, and before I could still my fingers, I was calling her.

It rang. And rang. Each ring sent spasms through my heart, and even though the voice in my head was screaming at me to hang up, I didn't move. It was probably better that it would go to voicemail, because then I could hear her voice without having to-

"Soph?" She said, her voice crackling through the phone, but it was still her voice. "Are you... what's up?" I almost hung up, but hearing my name on her lips, the nickname that only she ever called me, was the last blow that my cracking walls needed to crumble into dust.

"Hey..." I said, barely above a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried to sound as normal as possible. "I just, ah..." the other end stayed silent.

"Do you wanna come over?" I blurted. I slapped a hand over my mouth, wishing I could stuff the words back in, but I couldn't. All I could do was wait.

Silence. A shuffling sound. More silence.

"Soph..." she started, and I panicked.

"Forget it," I snapped, my words falling out of my mouth in a frenzy. "I'm sorry, I just- don't- just forget it, ok? This was a bad idea. I had a few drinks, and I'm hor- nevermind, just... goodnight." I hung up and dropped the phone like it burned me. After a second, I picked it back up and turned it off completely. I tossed it back on the couch and trudged over to my bedroom, defeated. Time for bed. At least I couldn't cause any more problems when I was asleep.

+++

I stared at the wall. I flipped onto my back, settling in. I stared at the ceiling. With a grunt, I turned onto my other side. I stared at the other wall.

There was no way I could sleep. I'd been laying here tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. I sat up and rubbed the nonexistent sleep from my eyes. I checked the time. It had been about fifteen minutes.

With a huff of frustration, I untangled myself from the sheets and got out of bed. My bedroom was suddenly unbearably stuffy and I couldn't breathe and I needed some fresh air now. I pulled on the jeans I'd been wearing earlier and barreled towards the front door. As soon as I opened it, I was hit with a wave of a familiar scent. I looked around, and sure enough, there she was.

Hannah was sitting on the curb in front of my house, smoking a clove cigarette. Her smoking had been the source of more than a few fights between us, but the smell reminded me of her, so I couldn't help but take in a deep breath.

"Hannah?" I asked, dumbfounded. What was she doing here? She turned and fixed her eyes on me. Turning back to the street, she took one last drag of her cigarette, then stubbed it out on the asphalt. She dropped the butt into the empty Altoids tin she used as an ashtray and slipped it in her pocket, rising from the curb. She brushed off her long, lanky legs and turned around to look at me again.

"Hey Soph," she said. Her voice was even better in person, even better than I remembered, crackling like a warm fire, the faintest hint of a southern twang peeking through her city accent.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly. I caught a flicker in her amber eyes in the light of the street lamp. She smirked.

"You invited me here, darling." I crossed my arms, annoyed.

"I changed my mind," I said, sounding surer than I felt. She shrugged, her smug expression softening slightly.

"I figured I'd check on you," she said gently, and I had to look away. "You sounded kind of wired. I was sitting here debating if I should just leave, but I guess you made that decision for me."

"How did you even get here so fast? Did you move out of that apartment on Main street?" I asked, deflecting slightly. She shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable.

"No, I'm still there. I was actually buying a guitar from a girl who lives about ten minutes from here." I raised an eyebrow.

"At midnight?" I asked, accusatory. She scratched the back of her neck.

"There might have been other reasons I was there," she said vaguely. This made me irrationally angry. We'd been broken up for months and I'd been fingering another girl barely half an hour ago, but I still hated the idea that she had been with someone else.

"Wow, so you just hit and ditched, huh? Classy," I jabbed. Her hands found her hips and she cocked her head.

"Better than getting drunk and booty-calling my ex," she shot back. I hoped she couldn't see my face flush in the dim light. Also better than moaning your ex's name while you're screwing someone else. Before I could reply, a gust of wind howled and my teeth chattered as the air chilled my bare arms. Hannah started to take off her leather jacket, but I held out a hand to stop her.

"No, don't. It's fine." I was cold, but I didn't want her jacket because I knew that feeling the warm leather on my skin, wrapping myself in her scent would cause me to break down completely. With a sigh, I turned back to the door.

"Just come in." It only took a few strides for her long legs to catch up with me, and soon I felt the presence of her body right behind mine, radiating warmth. I shivered, not from the cold this time.

She followed me inside, stopping at the door to untie her Doc Martens and kick them to the side. I stared at the boots, thinking about how long it'd been since the last time they were sitting there like that.

"Where's Kayla?" She asked.

"Visiting her parents," I answered. She nodded. We stood there awkwardly, but it was a different kind of awkwardness than it had been with maybe-Tiffany. This one was deeper, with a complex kind of tension brewing just below the silence.

I suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that I was in my ratty pajama shirt, my makeup was half wiped off, and the hair that wasn't in my ponytail was probably defying gravity.

"Give me a few minutes," I murmured, embarrassed, and fled to my bedroom. I quickly brushed out my hair, touched up my makeup, and put on the rest of the outfit I'd been wearing earlier. The color drained from my face when I took off my pajama shirt and realized which shirt it was; It was my old Plastic Tongues band shirt. Hannah's band.

Suddenly I felt like the biggest, most pathetic idiot in the world. She was out there smoking cigarettes and banging girls who owned guitars without a second thought, and I was wearing a t-shirt with her literal name on it, wallowing in self-pity and begging her to come over because I'd chased off the first date I had in months. Emboldened with new fire, I stomped out of the bedroom, ready to kick her out. Or at least pick a fight.

She was leaning against the counter, sipping an ice tea. It was one of those unsweetened ones that I hate, so there must have been a bottle hidden in the back of the fridge somewhere, because I was sure I'd gotten rid of them all when we broke up. She looked over when I came out, eyes trailing up and down my body, pausing for a moment at my cleavage. I tried to ignore the flutter that ran through my body.

"You should go," I said, as firmly as I could manage. Her eyes flicked up, locking on mine.

"Should I?" She said smoothly. I huffed impatiently.

"Go back to that girl's house," I spat, the words icier than I'd intended. She screwed the cap back on her ice tea with a shrug.

"Don't need to, I already got the guitar." She dropped the bottle onto the counter and pushed herself upright, sauntering over to me. I narrowed my eyes at her.

"We both know that's not why you were there." She was right in front of me now, looking down at me with those amber eyes that were narrowed to mirror mine. She was close enough that I could see the deep brown flecks in them. I had almost forgotten they were there.

"You think you know everything about me, but you don't. You really don't." Her voice was lower, less casual now.

"I used to," I said. Her jaw tightened.

"No you didn't. You just thought you did."

"I knew enough. I still know enough." She ran her fingers through her shaggy brown hair with an irritated huff, taking a step back.

"God, Soph, you're so arrogant. You think I'm just some-" she cut herself off abruptly, staring past me intently. I followed her gaze, but I had no idea what she was looking at.

"You've been busy, huh? How was she?" She snapped, her voice frosting over. "Well, she couldn't have been too good if you still ended up calling me, eh?" Now I was really confused.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She brushed past me, leaning over the back of the couch and plucking something off the cushion. She held it up for me to see; a hot pink press-on nail. It must have been could-be-Tiffany's, because there was no way in hell I would ever wear something like that, and Hannah knew it.

I stared at it, blinked a few times. I opened my mouth, then closed it, not really sure what to say. A storm of emotion flashed across her face as she watched me, hardening into a scowl at the sight of my expression.

"Was she a good lay at least?" She spat, her words dripping with acid. "What, did you call me over to compare? Or did you realize that no one fucks you as good as I do?" My cheeks flushed and my brain short-circuited for a moment, but my brewing anger was enough to pull me back from the ledge.

"Jesus, and I'm the arrogant one?" I scoffed, secretly proud of how stable my voice was. "You aren't God's gift to women, you know."

"I think the women I sleep with would disagree." A bitter snort escaped me.

"Were you such a gift to guitar-girl?" I spat. She rolled her eyes and turned away, still white-knuckling the press-on nail in one hand. "I bet she didn't think you were such a catch when you ditched her to come running to me." Hannah whipped back around, her eyes wide.

"Come run- running?" She spluttered in indignation. "Please. I came to do a wellbeing check on you because you sounded nuts." She held up the press-on again. "I guess I didn't need to though, because I'm sure she already checked you thoroughly!" She flicked the nail back on to the couch in disgust. I took a step towards her, completely infuriated now. I couldn't believe what a hypocrite she was.

"How can you be so angry that I had a girl over when you just came here straight from some other girl's house? It's not like you were just innocently buying a guitar in the middle of the fucking night!" I spat, poking a finger into her chest. She looked down at me, taken aback.

"W-Well," she spluttered, crossing her arms, "that's different." I threw up my arms in exasperation.

"Different?" I snarled, my temper skyrocketing. "How is it different? You can just sleep around with whoever because you never gave a fuck about me, but I'm supposed to just sit at home and cry myself to sleep while I hump my pillow because I'm such a goddamn loser?" Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but I steamrolled right over whatever she was gonna say, my voice rising to a shout as I fought against the tightness in my throat and the itching heat in my face that meant tears were imminent.

"You don't get to say anything about who I sleep with or who I bring home, or anything about my life anymore, just like I can't say shit to you about guitar-girl, ok? You know why, Hannah? Because we broke up." Her face had softened slightly at the beginning of my rant, but now it was cold as ice again. She took a step towards me.

"We broke up?" she repeated, her voice rising to meet mine. "No, Sophie, we didn't break up. You broke up with me." She angrily pulled her fingers through her hair again and took another step towards me, forcing me to step back. Our bodies were close, barely inches apart. "I wanted to make things work, but you were the one who ran away at the first sign of trouble." I let out a bitter laugh, but it came out more like a big wheeze.

"The first sign of trouble? Are you kidding me? There were a shitload of signs, I just didn't see them because I was so dazzled by this smoking hot girl who played guitar in a band and smoked and partied and had killer legs and could get any girl she wanted but still picked me for some reason." She blinked, and I felt like an idiot. We were just fighting, how did I turn it into complimenting her? Dumbass. I cleared my throat and tried to pivot back into yelling at her.

"You want some signs? How about that night after the gig at Mike's bar? Or that office party I brought you to? Or that thing with Tierney-" She rolled her eyes and groaned.