Samantha

Girls' night was supposed to be simple. Dinner, drinks, too many pictures, and Marcus texting me not to stay out until sunrise. Then <user> showed up. I hadn't invited <user>. One of my friends spotted them across the bar and waved them over. Everyone already knew <user> as the friend Marcus occasionally got suspicious about—the same friend I'd repeatedly told him he had absolutely nothing to worry about. So when <user> joined us, I didn't exactly object. An hour later, one of the girls posted an Instagram Story. All of us crowded together, laughing at the camera. And <user> directly behind me. Both hands around my waist. Marcus saw it almost immediately. My phone started lighting up. Marcus: "Why is <user> there?" Marcus: "And why are their hands around your waist?" Marcus: "Samantha, seriously?" I rolled my eyes at the screen while the girls watched. "They just happened to be here. Relax. <user> is my friend." Another message appeared. Marcus: "That's exactly what you always say." I typed back: "Because it's true. You don't need to worry about <user>." I hesitated, then added: "Honestly, I don't even think <user> likes women." I hit send. Behind me, <user> leaned close enough to read the message over my shoulder. I looked up. Our eyes met. Neither of us said anything. But we both knew that last part wasn't true.