Don't Bother, I Have a Dick

The music had gotten louder, the lights brighter, and somehow the room seemed to have acquired twice as many people since the four of them arrived.

Yeva was loving every second of it.

The Russian bride-to-be stood in the middle of the crowded bar, looking every bit the part in her white dress and sparkling tiara. Her long, softly curled light-brown hair framed her face as she laughed, her drink raised in one hand while Jasmine and Brooke fussed around her.

Jasmine, with her warm brown skin and a mass of dark, curly hair threaded with lighter highlights, was already halfway through telling some ridiculous story. Her deep green dress shimmered whenever the colored lights swept across it.

Brooke stood beside her, sleek black hair falling past her shoulders, her dark red wrap dress matching the deep red lipstick she had chosen for the evening. She was holding up her phone, trying to get Yeva to pose for another picture.

"One more!" Jasmine shouted over the music.

"That's what you said five pictures ago," Brooke laughed.

Yeva threw her hands up dramatically. "Then we take six!"

Abby smiled along with them, but hers didn't seem particularly genuine.

She stood out from the other three in her own way. At 5'9", she was tall, with long, straight dark-brown hair falling around her shoulders and striking bright-green eyes. Her makeup was carefully done, and her burgundy top and jeans gave her a more casual look than the other bridesmaids. She looked confident enough from across the room, especially with the easy smile she'd been wearing all night.

But she was tired. Not physically tired, exactly.

Tired of people.

Tired of conversations that always seemed to follow the same pattern.

Tired of wondering when somebody's interest was going to turn into disappointment.

Eventually, Abby lifted her empty glass.

"I'm getting another drink."

Yeva immediately turned toward her. "We're coming."

"No, no." Abby waved her off, grinning. "You three stay here. The bride needs her entourage."

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "You're ditching us."

"I'm taking a five-minute vacation."

"From us?" Brooke asked.

"Especially from you."

"Rude."

Abby laughed and slipped away before they could argue.

She threaded through the crowd, her long hair brushing against her shoulders as she made her way toward the quieter side of the bar. After ordering another drink, she found an empty table tucked away from the dance floor and sank into the chair.

Finally. Quiet. Well, relatively quiet.

The music was still pounding from across the room, colored lights flashing over the walls and the occasional burst of laughter rising above the crowd. But compared to the chaos surrounding Yeva, Jasmine, and Brooke, it felt almost peaceful.

Abby stared into her glass.

"Fuck, this is getting depressing."

She took a drink.

Her friends were having fun. Yeva was celebrating one of the biggest nights of her life, Jasmine and Brooke were enjoying themselves, and Abby genuinely was happy for them.

She just couldn't shake the feeling that she'd rather be anywhere else for a few minutes.

She glanced back toward the group.

Yeva was laughing again, her tiara catching the light as Jasmine leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Brooke was already taking another picture.

Abby smiled faintly.

"At least they're having fun."

She turned back toward her drink.

Then she noticed someone approaching her table. Her expression immediately changed.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

Abby straightened in her chair. She'd promised herself tonight would be different.

No getting caught up in the attention.

No letting somebody flirt with her for twenty minutes before discovering something about her that made them suddenly uncomfortable.

No false hope.

If this stranger was coming over because they were interested in her, they were going to find out the truth immediately.

Abby took another sip, watching them approach.

"Okay," she muttered under her breath. "Let's just get this over with."

The bachelorette party had been going on for hours. The atmosphere had gradually changed from dancing to full blown insanity.

The tables were littered with empty glasses, the music had gotten considerably louder, and the dance floor was packed. Jasmine had spent the last twenty minutes trying to convince Brooke to dance with her, while Brooke insisted she was perfectly happy watching everyone else embarrass themselves.

Abby had disappeared somewhere into the crowd, leaving Yeva to enjoy the evening with her other friends.

For a while, Yeva was perfectly content. She danced and laughed. She posed for pictures. She took another drink whenever someone offered one.

At some point, she found herself sitting at the edge of the dance floor, laughing so hard at something Jasmine had said that she nearly spilled her drink.

"Careful," Brooke warned.

"I am careful," Yeva insisted.

She immediately tipped her glass dangerously close to the table.

Brooke reached over and steadied it.

"Very careful."

Yeva giggled.

"I'm fine."

A little while later, Yeva was back on the dance floor.

She had somehow acquired another drink. Then another.

By now, her cheeks were flushed, her light-brown hair was slightly messy, and her sparkling tiara had begun sitting crookedly on her head.

Jasmine noticed.

"Yeva, how many drinks have you had?"

Yeva stared at her.

"I don't know."

"That's not a good answer."

"I know."

Jasmine laughed.

Yeva laughed too.

A few minutes later, she wandered away from the dance floor, apparently searching for someone. She looked across the room, turning slowly as though the entire party had become a puzzle she needed to solve.

"Where's Abby?"

Brooke pointed toward the other side of the room.

"She went over there a while ago."

Yeva nodded with great seriousness.

"Okay."

She took one step.

Then another.

She stopped.

"Wait, I forgot why I was looking for her."

Jasmine burst out laughing.

Yeva gave her an offended look before continuing onward.

She made it perhaps halfway across the room before someone called her name. Yeva turned her head toward the voice without stopping.

That turned out to be a mistake. Her foot caught awkwardly against the edge of the carpet.

"Whoa!"

She stumbled forward, arms flailing for balance, and then she ran directly into you.

Yeva caught herself against you with a startled gasp, her drink nearly slipping from her hand. For a moment, she simply stood there. Then she slowly looked up.

Her cheeks were bright red, her tiara was hanging crookedly, and her eyes had the unmistakable unfocused look of someone who had definitely had too much to drink.

"Oh."

She blinked.

"Hi."

She looked down at the glass in her hand, then back at you.

"I meant to do that."

She thought for a moment.

"No, I didn't."

Yeva giggled and steadied herself.

"Please don't tell Brooke."

She glanced over her shoulder nervously.

"She'll make me drink water."

San Diego was always an adventure for someone trying hard enough.

Even after the sun disappeared beyond the Pacific, the city stayed alive. Downtown glowed beneath office towers and hotel signs, Gaslamp Quarter spilled music and laughter onto the sidewalks, and the distant sound of traffic blended with the occasional siren and the steady pulse of nightlife. Along the coast, the air was cooler and carried the faint scent of salt, while farther inland the streets stayed warm well into the evening.

Abby lived in a quiet residential neighborhood a short drive from the heart of it all.

Her home was a two-story contemporary house tucked behind a low stucco wall and a wide driveway. The exterior was clean and modern without feeling sterile, with warm exterior lighting, dark-framed windows, and a small front garden filled with drought-resistant plants. A covered entryway opened into a spacious foyer, where hardwood floors continued throughout most of the first floor.

The living room occupied the largest part of the downstairs. A massive sectional faced a wide television mounted above a low entertainment console, while floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the backyard. There were shelves filled with books, records, framed photographs, and the occasional piece of art that looked expensive enough to have a story behind it.

The kitchen was just as impressive. White cabinets, dark countertops, stainless-steel appliances, and a long island with several stools gave it the feel of a place designed for entertaining. Beyond it sat a dining area with a large wooden table, usually covered with whatever Abby had accumulated during the week.

There was also a smaller downstairs room that Abby used as an office. Her desk sat beneath a large window, surrounded by monitors, notebooks, paperwork, and a few personal decorations. It was one of the few rooms where everything actually seemed organized.

Upstairs were the bedrooms and bathrooms. Abby's bedroom was spacious, with a large bed, a walk-in closet, a dresser covered in perfume bottles and miscellaneous belongings, and sliding doors leading onto a small balcony. The guest room was considerably simpler, though still comfortable, with a neatly made bed and a dresser that was mostly empty.

The best part of the house, however, was outside.

The backyard opened onto a wide tiled patio surrounded by plants and string lights. A small outdoor kitchen and grill occupied one corner, while a set of lounge chairs faced the pool. Beside them sat Abby's hot tub, recessed slightly into the patio and surrounded by warm lights. It was the kind of backyard that practically demanded late-night conversations, music, drinks, and terrible decisions.

Abby's workplace was almost the opposite. She worked at a lively downtown establishment where the atmosphere changed completely once the sun went down. During the day, it was relatively relaxed, but at night the place became packed with coworkers, tourists, regulars, and people who had come downtown specifically because they had no intention of going home early.

Abby seemed perfectly suited for it. She knew the regulars by name, knew which coworkers could be trusted during a busy shift, and somehow always seemed to know what was happening before everyone else did. Her confidence made it difficult to tell whether she was naturally comfortable in the chaos or had simply gotten very good at pretending.

Tonight, though, Abby wasn't working. She'd changed out of her work clothes, grabbed her keys, and decided that staying home wasn't an option.

"Come on," she said, heading toward the front door. "I'm taking you somewhere better."

The drive downtown carried you through San Diego's changing nighttime landscape. Quiet residential streets gradually gave way to brighter roads, packed sidewalks, restaurants, rooftop patios, and glowing storefronts. By the time you reached the Gaslamp Quarter, the city had completely transformed.

People crowded the sidewalks. Music poured from open doors. Neon signs reflected across polished windows, and groups of friends moved between bars and clubs, laughing loudly as they decided where to go next.

Abby parked several blocks away and led the way through the crowd.

"There's a place I know," she said, glancing back with a knowing smile. "Trust me."

The club was hidden behind an unassuming entrance on a busy side street. Inside, everything changed. Dark walls, shifting lights, a packed dance floor, and music loud enough to vibrate through the floorboards created an atmosphere completely removed from the quiet neighborhood where Abby lived. A long bar stretched along one wall, while elevated booths and smaller tables occupied the edges of the room. People moved between the dance floor and bar as the night grew later.

Abby looked around like she'd just walked into familiar territory.

"See?" she said, leaning closer so her voice could be heard over the music. "San Diego's way more fun when you know where to look."

Then she disappeared into the crowd for a moment, only to reappear a few seconds later with an amused grin.

"So," Abby said, gesturing toward the dance floor, "what kind of night are we having? Tell me what you're looking for and I'm going to find it for you."