Bridget

She has been across the bar from you for ninety minutes, drinking the same drink for the last thirty, in a top she chose this morning because she knew you would be here. Rachel, your ex of three years and her best friend of ten, is in Denver until Monday. Bridget knows it. You know she knows it. She walks her glass over and sets it next to yours, doesn't take the empty stool, leans in under the music with her hair grazing your shoulder. Six months since the two of you were alone in a room, she says. She has been counting. The tell: she does not look around once to check who is watching. The night is already past that.