Free Mexican Nights by Jeanne Stephens

she didn't wish that! She sat up suddenly, grabbing the bar of soap, and began to scrub her neck and arms vigorously. She was going out with Jack— sweet, gentlemanly Jack. They would have a lovely time together. She tried to picture Jack sharing her bubble bath, but somehow she could not even begin to imagine it. And why should she? Jack was a good friend. That's what she needed right now—not an arrogant barbarian who put women on a level only slightly higher than a well-trained dog.
    She dressed in a soft blue silk dress with a flared skirt and prim Peter Pan collar with the top button undone to show the single strand of pearls that matched the pearl studs she wore in her ears. Jack arrived, in a suit the same color as her dress, and looked her over approvingly. With a warm smile, he said, "Look at us. We match."
    "It's a good omen," Terri said brightly. "We like the same colors, so we probably have a lot of other things in common as well."
    "Hmm, right," he said with a teasing quirk of an eyebrow.
    Since it was only a few blocks away, they decided to walk to the hotel where a well-known Mexican guitarist was performing nightly. Jack had made reservations and the waiter led them to a table near the raised platform where the floor show would be performed.
    "In addition to the guitarist, who's the real attraction," Jack told her when they were seated, "there's supposed to be a pretty good female vocalist, too." The waiter hovered nearby until Jack asked Terri, "What would you like to drink?"
    "I've always wanted to try tequila."
    When their order arrived, Jack raised his glass to hers and said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "To Mexican nights." Terri responded with a smile.
    She looked about her at the gay, laughing couples at surrounding tables. It was her first real night out in Mexico City and she resolved to make it an unforgettable experience.
    After that things ran together for Terri. Smoky bars with tinny music playing; weaving arm in arm with Jack through crowded streets; laughing at Jack's funny stories—and hadn't she danced with a fat Mexican man in one of those hole-in-the-wall places where they had stopped for a drink?
    It was all rather mixed up. Not that Terri was really drunk. She had never been drunk in her life. She was only shedding a few of those inhibitions Derek had accused her of having. She was enjoying herself with a vengeance. And then it was very late and she was tired and, with Jack's arm supporting her, they strolled back to their hotel.
    With a wide flourish, he held his thumb against the elevator up button. They stepped inside and, when the elevator started up, Terri lost her footing and stumbled against Jack with a helpless giggle.
    On four, they got out and Terri said defiantly, "I'm not sleepy yet! The night's young. I want to dance some more."
    Jack grinned happily. "We've got a tape player in our suite."
    Terri frowned. "Won't Mike be asleep?"
    They had reached the room and Jack took a key from his pocket and, after several tries, fitted it into the lock. "We've got two rooms—a bedroom and a sitting room. With the door closed, old Mike won't hear a thing. He wouldn't anyway. When he goes to sleep, it would take World War III to wake him."
    He laughed uproariously at his own joke and Terri joined him. He got the door open and stood back for her to enter. "Come into my parlor," he intoned wickedly.
    Inside, Terri began to feel slight uneasiness. Hurriedly, she pushed the feeling aside. This was to be an unforgettable night. She'd better remember that. If she kept forgetting, it wouldn't be unforgettable—right?
    Jack was shifting some glasses about on a low coffee table. "I guess we're out of anything to drink. I'll call down—"
    "No," said Terri. "I'd rather dance. Where are your tapes?"
    She found a slow, dreamy tune and put it in the small tape player that sat on a lamp table next to the couch. Then Jack, looking suddenly solemn, was taking her hand and pulling her into his