I’m at home in the middle of changing clothes when my phone lights up with a text from Mya. All afternoon, I’ve been waiting to get a text or email that she’s changed her mind and isn’t coming over. It’s expected. This is new territory for both of us and Mya looked pretty freaked out earlier today.

But when I open the text, I have to read it three times before it makes sense.

Mya: Thanks for this weekend Happy Hour Hottie.

A startled laugh escapes. Maybe I misread her mood earlier. She doesn’t sound pissed off at all. And she’s calling me a hottie.

Mya: Mya’s having fun. But can’t get her off the bar. She’s had about fvh% margaritas 2 many.

My brow furrows as I scan the message again. Did she mean to send this text to someone else? But no, why would she send someone a text about herself having too many margaritas? Then another text comes in.

Mya: Oops, this is Mya’s roommate. I’ve had a few myself.

Ah, now it’s starting to make sense. But my relief disappears when I realize what it means for Mya’s roommate to have her phone.

Milo: Why is she on the bar?

Mya: Dancing! There’s a lot of guys here and

The message just stops. I’m staring at it for a few seconds before I realize no more is coming. Shit. Her roommate probably isn’t in any better shape than she is judging from these messages. It’s none of your business, I remind myself. Mya clearly didn’t want to see me tonight, otherwise she would have come over instead of going out drinking. Then I imagine Mya drunk and vulnerable in a bar full of guys.

Fuck. I grab a sweatshirt from my closet and pull it on.

Milo: Tell me where you are?

Five minutes later I have the address. The entire way there, I tell myself that I’m not being creepy by checking up on Mya. Clearly she meant to blow me off tonight and just not come over or call but that doesn’t mean I want her to be in an unsafe situation. I’ve never seen her drink a lot at the office happy hours so something tells me this is not her usual behavior. And I definitely don’t want her or her roommate walking alone if they’re intoxicated. The tapas bar is in Foggy Bottom, not far from George Washington University Hospital. It’s a nice area with a lot of new development but you really can’t be too careful in the city.

It’s almost a miracle that I find parking. But when I see a meter open up a few yards down the road, I swing around the car in front of me and grab the spot, ignoring the blare of horns. The bar is just a block away and I hear the music before I get there. When I open the door, I scan the crowd looking for Mya. But before I get too far, someone grabs my arm.

A stunning woman wearing nurse’s scrubs leans way too close. “There you are. Happy Hour Hottie!”

This must be the roommate. She called me that in her text message, too. I have a feeling there’s a story there and I’m going to enjoy tormenting Mya until she admits who came up with that name.

“In the flesh. And you are?”

She holds out her hand. “Ariana Silva. I guess I should have introduced myself when I texted you. But I’ve kind of had my hands full here.”

“Where is Mya? Is she okay?”

She points behind me and I turn to see Mya is dancing near the end of the bar. She’s still wearing the conservative blouse and skirt she wore to work today but she’s unbuttoned more than a few buttons on her blouse so an alarming amount of cleavage is on display. Her high heels lay abandoned on the floor a few feet away while two guys dance around her. One of them is practically dry humping her from behind.

My mouth falls open.

Ariana looks sheepish. “At least I got her off the bar. I didn’t realize how many drinks she’d had until she took her shoes off. Then those guys showed up. I mean I’m no cock-block but she didn’t even protest when I asked for her phone and then put her thumb on the scanner to unlock it. I don’t even think she was aware that I was doing it. She’s in no shape to go home with some random guy.”

“But you called me. Why?” Not that I’m complaining but from her roommate’s perspective, I’m just a random guy, too.

“You’re her fiancé, aren’t you?” Ariana winks.

“I guess that means she told you about Vegas.” I’m not sure I want to know what she told her friend about our trip. It also doesn’t seem like a good sign that instead of coming over Mya went out with her friend and got trashed.

“She told me but I also know that you two used to be friends. You can tell a lot about a man by how he responds when you need him. You’re a good guy, Triple H.”

Her cheeky response makes me smile. “You think so?”

Ariana sways slightly, confirming my suspicion that she’s not in much better shape than Mya. “You’re here, aren’t you? Mya needed you and you showed up. That’s all I need to know. And on that note, I’m going to take an Uber home. I’ll let you figure out how to get Mya out of here.”

I laugh at her bold personality. She’s not who I would have thought would be friends with Mya but I can see why they work together. Someone like Ariana is exactly what Mya needs in her life to help her have fun.

Something you won’t be helping her with anymore, clearly.

I ignore the bitter part of me that wishes things had turned out differently. But no matter what, Ariana is right. We were friends. Hell, we are friends even if Mya doesn’t want to be. I’ll always think of her as a friend.

Mya doesn’t even notice when I approach but the guys dancing with her do. I give them both my best menacing stare.

The one dancing in front of her leaves immediately and tries to get his friend to leave too but the other guy shakes his head.

“What’s your problem, man? Get your own girl.” His eyes are glassy and his cheeks start to go red.

The bartender walks our way, probably anticipating a fight.

“I am getting my girl. You’re dancing with her. That’s my fiancée you’re grinding on.”

Mya looks up at that. “Milo? What are you doing here?” All of a sudden it’s as if she notices the guy pushing up behind her. Her nose wrinkles and then she covers her cheeks with her hands. “Uh oh, I’m in trouble.”

The guy looks between us in alarm and then holds up his hands. “I didn’t know she had a husband!”

Mya giggles uncontrollably. “He’s not my husband. Nobody wants to be my husband.”

Oh boy. It’s definitely time to get her out of here.

“Time to go, beautiful.” I lean down and grab her shoes off the floor. “Where’s your stuff?”

Mya pouts when the guy who was dancing with her walks away. “I don’t even know his name. But he seemed like fun. William didn’t think I was fun. He said I was all about work. Work, work, work.”

I loop her arm around my neck. “Do you need to close your tab?”

She shakes her head. “No, I paid earlier. Those guys just kept buying me drinks.”

“Yeah, I bet they did,” I mutter under my breath. “Come on, beautiful. Time to go home.”

Now up until this point I was wondering why Ariana bothered to call me. From the text messages, I was expecting Mya to be three sheets to the wind and singing show tunes at the top of her lungs but she’s been docile as a lamb so far. Getting her home should be a piece of cake.

But apparently I just mentioned the magic word.

“Home? No, I am not going home!” Mya shouts, suddenly wide awake. “Where’s Ariana? We’re supposed to be having fun!” One of her hands lands in my face as she practically climbs me trying to get back to the bar.

“Holy shit.” I grunt as her other hand punches me in the stomach. “Mya, baby. Come on. Ariana is already at home. Let’s go see her.”

Mya starts shaking her head back and forth so wildly that she loses her balance. I manage to catch her before she clips the bar and we both land sprawled on the bar stool.

“No, I don’t want to see her at home. That’s boring. I’m tired of being b-o-r-ing. I’m having drinks and then I am going to have some meaningless sex!”

Her voice is so loud that it carries even over the music. A guy across the room yells out, “I’d be happy to help you with that mamacita!” which ignites a round of spirited laughter from the crowd surrounding us.

I close my eyes. “Mya, you are going to seriously owe me for this one. But if you don’t come with me, I will carry your sexy little ass out of here.”

She leans closer, eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I bend at the knees and then hoist her over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Her handbag is on the floor and I’m trying to figure out how to grab it and her shoes when the bartender comes from behind the bar and gets them for me.

“Good luck with that one, dude. She’s a wildcat.”

Mya’s nails dig into my lower back. I’m holding her too tightly for her to kick but I guess she figured that she can take her revenge elsewhere.

I wince. “Yeah she is. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Now I’m not saying that you should get an award for doing the right things in life. If something is the right thing to do, you should do it even if no one is watching. That’s just the way it is.

But if there ever were awards for being a nice guy, I should receive one for this cab ride.

“I can’t believe you spanked my ass in front of all of those people!” Mya shrieks, her face half-buried in my shirt.

Hopefully the cab driver isn’t paying attention to what we’re doing back here because Mya keeps climbing into my lap. I’ve tried putting her back on her side of the cab three times and she always ends up back here with her face buried in my shoulders and her soft round ass rubbing all over my cock. But I’m not touching her at all. She’s drunk right now and emotional and I would never take advantage of that. Even when she’s literally climbing all over me.

Lots of guys would argue that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying these incidental touches but I don’t feel right getting hot and bothered when I’m not sure Mya knows what she’s doing. So every time she climbs on my lap, I deposit her gently back in her seat.

See what I mean? Award material, right there.

“I only spanked your ass because you were scratching me. That hurt and I needed to get you out of that bar before you invited one of those guys home with us.”

We’re stuck in traffic so I’m contemplating whether I should put her back on her side of the cab again or just give in and let her stay where she is since she’s calming down now. But then I feel something ticklish moving over my lips. Mya is tracing my face with her fingertips.

“You’re so sweet to me,” she says. Her eyes close like she’s too tired to keep them open. But she’s still mumbling to herself. “I wish you weren’t. It was so much easier to hate you when you weren’t being so nice.”

Her voice is mournful and it makes me want to take care of her. I don’t like hearing her sound like this.

“Of course I’m nice to you, Mya. You’re my–” I falter, not sure what to call her. But she shushes me, holding a finger to my mouth.

“Don’t say it. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

Now I’m confused. I’m not sure if she’s talking about us or something else. “What’s supposed to be a secret?” But she doesn’t answer so I stroke her hair and say, “Sleep, Mya. We’ll be home soon.”

She sighs and the sound carries such sadness. “I’m going home alone. He didn’t want to keep me, you know? William didn’t want to keep me. So now I’m alone. Always alone.”

The longing in her voice calls out to me. Because the way she looks right now is the way I’ve felt so many times alone in the city. Mya is right to have concerns about us. About where this is going and about how we’ll function at work because of it.

But right now, all that shit doesn’t matter. There’s no work, there’s no client, there’s no Mirage. There’s just two lonely people in a cab.

I lean forward and tap lightly on the plexiglass separating us from the cab driver. “Sorry, change of plans.”

Maybe I’ll regret this later but right now I don’t care. I can’t fix everything for Mya but I can fix this. Neither of us has to be lonely tonight.

So I give the cab driver my address.