Free Romantically Challenged by Beth Orsoff

dessert.”
    “There is no way I’m going to sit here for the next hour wondering what’s in that bag. You’ve strung this out long enough.”
    He pondered the idea for a moment, then said, “I guess you’re right. Besides, I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you open it.”
    He set the shopping bag on the table and slid it towards me. I reached inside and pulled out a blue drawstring Gap bag. Inside that was a white plastic grocery bag. I gave Joe a nasty look.
    He smiled back. “In case you peeked.”
    I unfurled the grocery bag and pulled out a tan push-up bra with silicone gel cups. “What the hell is this?”
    “It’s your bra.” He folded his arms across his chest with a self-satisfied grin. “Interesting texture. What’s inside that thing? It feels like Jell-o.”
    “This isn’t my bra,” I said automatically.
    “Really? Then how come it has your name and number in it?” Joe reached for the bra and turned it over. It was my name and phone number in black ink scrawled across the inside of the left cup. Even the handwriting was my own.
    This was not happening. I had to be dreaming. This had to be a nightmare. I would will myself to wake up. I closed my eyes for a moment but when I opened them Joe was still sitting across from me. I finally remembered where we first met. At the bar at the hotel where my cousin Sharon had her wedding.
    Think fast. Try offense. It worked the last time. “You could’ve written that in there yourself. It doesn’t mean its mine.”
    “You think I went out and bought a bra and wrote your name and number in it? Why would I do that?”
    “I don’t know. You tell me. Maybe you’re crazy. Or maybe it’s the only way you can get a date.”
    “I have no problem getting dates.”
    That I believed.
    “Why don’t you just admit that it’s yours?”
    I hated conceding, but I was cornered. “Okay, even if I assume you’re not lying and this really is my bra, why would I have given it to you?”
    “To prove to me that you could take your bra off without removing your dress first. You told me you could do it, but I didn’t believe you, so we bet on it. I lost.”
    That did sound like something I might do after four or five martinis.
    “I was really impressed,” he continued. “I’d never seen anyone do that before. Do you want me to show you how you did it?”
    “No.” I knew how it was done. “Assuming you’re not making all this up, what happened next?”
    “I paid up and bought you two more drinks. Then I went into the stock room to clean up before closing. When I came back, you were sprawled across the bar sound asleep.”
    That definitely sounded like me.
    “I tried to wake you, but you were out for the night. I ended up carrying you up to your room.”
    “You carried me?”
    “At first I just tried to help you walk on your own, but you kept falling down. Eventually I gave up and carried you the rest of the way.”
    “How did you know what room I was in?” I was still hoping I could catch him in a lie to prove that he was making all this up.
    “You charged your drinks to your room, counselor. The room number was on the receipt.”
    Damn. “So what happened when you brought me upstairs?” I didn’t really want to know, but at this point I had to.
    “What do you think happened?” He flashed me a wicked grin. 
    “I don’t know,” I said, my voice rising. “That’s why I’m asking.” It’s hard to remain calm when you’re being humiliated.
    “I was a perfect gentleman. I just laid you down on the bed and left.”
    I gave him a look that told him I didn’t believe him. I knew how I got when I’d had a few drinks. I wouldn’t have wanted him to leave.
    “I swear,” he said and held up his right hand. “I didn’t even peek.”
     “So when did I give you my bra?”
    “You didn’t exactly give it to me. It was more like you left it for me. I found it under your barstool the next day. I tried to return it, but you’d already