Of course I'm not going to call her. She's fucking crazy. Buying a drink before eight in the morning for some sweaty slob of a woman she doesn't even know? Totally out of her mind. But I'm definitely going out drinking later. For now… sleep.

I wake up four hours later on the couch. I thought I went to sleep in the bed, but apparently not. I can't remember. I'm starving, so I get up and walk over to the fridge and survey the numerous take-out menus I have pinned there by magnets. Each of them – the magnets, I mean – is from some city I've been to. I'm a financial analyst for a major car company. I assess car accidents in order to evaluate whether or not a recall should be made on any of the parts. You'd be surprised at the percent of times a part has to fail before being recalled. It's nearly astronomical. In any case, I travel around the country to evaluate this, but I'm never anywhere for long (except Boston).

Sometimes, I wish I could move somewhere else. To San Francisco, or Houston. Maybe even Des Moines. Anything's better than Boston.

Anyway, I'm looking at the menus, but nothing looks good. I settle on a pizza place two blocks away and call in my order so it's ready when I get there. (I always do.) I sound like I've just gotten run over by a car. The man on the phone even asks if I'm alright.

"Sure thing, pal," I tell him. "Just peachy."

I hang up and look around at all my furniture from IKEA and laugh. Then, I take the woman's business card off the fridge and put it in my wallet. Only menus go on the fridge. Why am I keeping her card, anyway? I'm not going to call her.

I immediately start drinking at the pizza place, as soon as they hand me the box with my medium pepperoni. They expected me to take the food and leave, since I called it in, so they look at me funny when I sit in the back, away from the window, so no one's watching me eat. I fucking hate that. I hate when people walk by a shop and stare in the window at the people inside. It's fucking creepy.

I'm a little drunk by the time I start walking back to my apartment. It doesn't matter, though, because I sober up quickly when I approach the building. One of the top floors is on fire, and the building is surrounded by cops. Smoke's coming out of the windows and I can see the flames. Suddenly, I'm thinking, Shit. I could've stayed home. I could be fucking sleeping right now. I could be on my couch. I could be dead.

And suddenly, that doesn't seem so bad. What am I living for anyway? My IKEA furniture?

I start to walk up to the building and a cop stops me.

"You can't go near there, ma'am, it's-"

"I live here," I tell him, staring up at the flames.

He pushes my shoulder and moves me backwards, and I look at him like he's got three heads.

"Don't touch me, man," I say, slurring a little.

"Ma'am, you're… If… What floor do you live on?"

"Forty-third."

"That's where the blaze is coming from. It looks like someone's gas line broke and it was leaking throughout the floor. Someone turned on their stove and the place just… went up…"

"Fuck," I breathed. "Alright."

Alright? Who says 'Alright' when their apartment just went up in flames? All my fucking IKEA furniture! Goddammit, I'm thinking. This is so not my day.

Instead of staying and watching the blaze, I just turn around and walk back to the pizza place. The employee at the counter looks at me quizzically, like it's weird that I'm back so soon (which it is).

When I order another beer, he asks, "Rough day, love?"

What's with people asking me that? What business of theirs is it if my day is rough? What do they care? He doesn't care. He's just making conversation. I shake my head and look around while he fills my glass. When he gives it to me, I knock it back without hesitation. I need to get my buzz going again.

Once I have it, I stare down at the table. I'm dizzy, but I'm not tired like I usually am. I'm anxious. On the other hand, I'm sort of feeling 'Fuck it' right now. Who needs IKEA furniture anyway? Shit's expensive, but it's cheaply made. Why does anyone buy it anyway? I think about Regina Mills and the way she swings her hips. Her furniture is probably custom made, judging by the way she dresses. So why'd she make the IKEA crack? Where did she say she worked, anyway? She didn't. I pull out her business card.

Instantly, I'm laughing. She works as a financial analyst for another big company. My job, but higher pay. Much higher pay. I sigh and stare down at it. I don't want to talk. I just want to drink. But continuing to drink alone sounds shitty.

But I'm not going to call her. I won't.

So I do. She picks up on the second ring.

"Regina Mills speaking."

She sounds so formal. Almost regal. I'm tipsy, so I want to laugh, but I manage to stop myself before replying.

"Hey, Regina. It's Emma."

"Hey, Emma. You sound a little…"

"Yeah, I know. I'm a bit buzzed."

"Fair enough. So what's up?"

I laugh.

"Feel like having a drink? Now that it's almost four in the afternoon?"

"Five is generally my rule, but I suppose I could make an exception." I can hear the smile in her voice as she asks, "Where are you?"

"I'm at the pizza place near Faneuil Hall."

"Uh…"

"What?"

"You mean Regina Pizzeria?"

I burst out laughing. The place really is called Regina Pizzeria. I hadn't thought much of it, coming here, but now that I'm on the phone with Regina… it's beyond funny. It's funny as hell. At first, she's silent, but I guess my laugh is infectious too, because eventually, she joins in.

"What a fucking slop joint," she comments sharply, then pauses. "I'll be there in fifteen."

I manage to get another beer down before she arrives. She walks in looking like she's dressed for a meeting, and I wonder why.

"You changed your clothes," I comment, noting the lack of wrinkles on her deep blue dress shirt and the fresh smell of laundry.

"What's it to you?"

"Why'd you dress so nicely?"

"You're still dressed nicely."

I look down at myself. She's right. I'm still in my work clothes. But I look like shit. No sweat stains, but my clothes are definitely not clean anymore. I should've changed before I went out. Now I'm seriously regretting it. Then again, who dresses up just to go to some 'slop joint' pizza place? Regina Mills, apparently. I catch myself staring. The first three buttons of her blouse are undone, and I'm wondering if she did this on purpose. What's with this crazy lady? And why the fuck did I call her?

Then I remember. She's gorgeous.

Finally, I also remember to answer her, and I reply, "I should've changed."

She ignores the comment and says, "Can I get you another drink?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Just another beer is fine. Not feeling the hard liquor at the moment. Trying to keep the buzz going without going overboard, ya know?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "I know."

She stands up and walks over to the counter where she orders me another beer. I watch her hips sway as she walks away, and luckily, she doesn't turn around and see me staring. Unfortunately, I'm still staring as she walks back over to me, and that she does notice.

"See something you like?" she teases me, and my lips part.

I can't speak. She's captivating. Thankfully, she smiles and sits down across from me without pressing the issue. I'm sure she already knows the answer to what she's asked.

"So, a building down the street is totally up in flames… That wouldn't happen to be your apartment, would it?" she finally asks me, after I've silently taken a few thick sips of my beer.

"Yeeep," I laugh. I don't know why it's funny, but I add, "Bye-bye IKEA furniture."

Suddenly, she looks serious and says, "We're consumers. We're the by-products of a lifestyle obsession. We buy things we don't need to impress people we don't like." Then, after some silence – I have no idea what to say to this, because she's right – she adds, "Anyway, what's the game plan then?"

I look down at the table. I have none. No plan whatsoever. Except eating pizza and drinking for the rest of the evening. No plan for after the restaurant closes.

"Park bench?" I joke.

She looks at me seriously.

"For real, though. What's your plan? Are they putting you up in a hotel?"

"Nah. For now, there's no proof that it's the building managers' fault. They think there was a gas leak, but until they can prove it, there's no way to pin responsibility on them. For all they know, someone could have set the fire intentionally."

She sighs and nods her head in understanding, saying, "That sucks."

I lift my gaze and find hers. It's soft and sympathetic. She's genuine, and that freaks me out. Nobody's this honest, and nobody's this nice. It's creepy. I hesitate before speaking, unsure of what to say.

"Why don't you just ask?" she presses suddenly, breaking the awkward silence.

"Huh?"

"Just ask."

"Ask what?"

"Be a man, Emma, and just fucking ask."

Then, it hits me. I realize what's she's talking about. She wants me to ask her if I can crash at her place. There's no way that's happening. I'm not gonna beg a couch off some woman I just met. But she's looking at me with those big, serious chocolate eyes, and it's killing me to defy her. Plus, I do need a place to stay. It hadn't occurred to me to ask her, but now that she's telling me to ask, I'm considering it. What other choice do I have?

"Would you… um… Do you think I could maybe… uh…"

"Just ask."

Finally, I blurt it out.

"Is there any chance I could crash at your place? Just for a night, until I figure stuff out?"

"Well, it's definitely too late to book a hotel around here. I don't think you've got any other choice," she tells me, a smirk slowly passing over her lips.

"So… Is that…"

"Of course you can."

"Wow… Jeez… Thanks."

"Not used to the kindness of others, are you?"

"No… I, uh… I guess not."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"

I shrug my shoulders apprehensively and take a swig of my drink. She's too nice. I can't stop thinking that. She's too nice.

She buys me two more drinks before my tongue loosens any more.

"Trying to get me plastered, eh, Miss Mills?" I tease her.

She's amused by this. A smile's playing at her lips, and it's gorgeous. There's something so sexy about the way she smiles. She knows something I don't. A woman full of secrets.

"Perhaps," she responds slowly, pushing the only glass she's ordered for herself across the table towards me.

"What about you?" I slur. "Don't you drink?"

I stare down at the glass, tempted but unwilling to reach out for it without confirmation.

"I do," she tells me. "But not tonight. Don't waste it."

So I don't. Instead, I drink it in its entirety. Then, I am plastered. Completely. Once again, she's seeing me in my worst possible condition, but she doesn't seem put off by it. For some reason, she's still hanging around, watching me intently as I run my mouth about my shitty job. Well, former job.

After this, she stops offering me drinks, but it's too late to regret her decision to buy me so many. I'm already beyond using rational judgement. In fact, I piss off one of the waiters so badly that I'm thrown out of this establishment too. I fall on my ass outside, but Regina lifts me up off the sidewalk and dusts me off.

"You're okay, champ," she laughs. "Let's get you back to my place before you're busted for public intoxication."