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But when you're sober, spending three hours with a guy who keeps trying to hang his jacket on the hook under the bar is torture.
At the time, I was freshly single, and it had been a while since I'd been called upon to make awkward conversation with a stranger, play the "Who's Going to Pay for Dinner?
But before we'd even finished the appetizers, his two vodkas had turned into four, and by the time dinner arrived, he was slurring his words.
In my old life, I probably wouldn't have noticed I might have kept up with him.
I did not stumble to the bedroom in a happy, confident daze as my clothes melted off my body; rather, he unbuttoned my shirt, struggling with one of the buttons.
I held one arm over my breasts and said, "Hold on, let me play some music."He sidled up behind me and started to push my jeans over my hips; I quickly straightened up, gave him a strangled smile, and said, "Um, the bedroom is ...