Brett was out of her seat and out of earshot long before she could hear Stella say, "Brett? Wait!" protectively. Stella shook her head and realized that it didn't matter how hard she was trying to help her friend at this point. The heart wants what it wants, even if it doesn't know what the hell it wants and is about to make a fool out of itself. Stella decided to get another drink and watch the shit show unravel.

"Hey," Brett said quietly, approaching Foster as she watched her every step. The woman had already flagged Otis down for another beer, which was sat next to Foster readily.

"Watch out," Foster said suddenly, sarcasm dripping from her words, "you might not want your friends to see you with the big bisexual whore and get the wrong idea," she rolled her eyes, downing her drink but not pulling her eyes from Brett.

Brett sank. She was filled with a mix of guilt and anger that only brewed after slamming a few beers in a short amount of time. She stepped away from Foster quickly.

"Seriously? What is that supposed to mean? I know that you want to make your point but don't you think I already understand that I screwed up?" Brett asked a bit too loudly, drawing Otis and Herrmann's attention from behind the bar.

"Do you?" Foster asked quietly, causing Brett to approach again slightly. "If you really feel the way you feel about me then why are you even over here?"

'The way you feel about me.' Brett repeated in her head. To Foster, that feeling was negative. To Brett, it was anything but, even if she didn't fully understand it yet. She took a deep breath and attempted to contain herself before she spoke. Fail.

"I couldn't sit across the room and look at you without coming over to apologise," Brett admitted, picking up her drink from the bar but making a point not to get too close to Foster.

"You already apologized, Brett," Foster sighed out, finishing her drink and already seeking another.

'Damn you, Stella,' Brett thought to herself. Why did she always have to be right?

"You told me that you couldn't talk about it but you would be able to. But then you showed up here tonight and you just kept looking at me and it felt like we had something to say," Brett told her, heart on her sleeve, finally.

"I cancelled my date," Foster said suddenly with no emotion behind it. It took everything in Brett not to squeal in delight.

"Why?" Brett asked, as casually as she could muster, as she sipped her beer when she wanted to chug it.

"You pissed me off today, Sylvie. You really did. You made me angrier than I have been in a long time," Foster said, looking into her eyes intensely as she spoke. She looked away and took a long swig of her drink. "But you weren't wrong, about some of it," she added nervously. "I will never feel ashamed of myself or my dating. I will never feel bad about getting to know people and exploring my options. But I shouldn't have agreed to a date with someone that I didn't like. That I wasn't even attracted to. You got me there," she raised her glass and rolled her eyes, uncomfortable with admitting her forfeit.

"I bet she was heartbroken," flew out of Brett's mouth before she even realized that the words were in her head. She thought about poor, not-cute FedEx girl and she put herself in her shoes. If Emily Foster cancelled a date with her, she'd be wrecked. She realized what that meant.

"Seriously, Brett?! What's that supposed to mean? Your disrespect for me has gone WAY too far and somehow you packed in all in to one day," Foster said, wild-eyed, slamming her empty glass onto the counter.

Brett's head was swimming. What? She was trying to be honest (with herself) with Emily, finally, and THAT'S the reaction she got. It took a few seconds too long for her to realise that Foster thought she was being sarcastic when she was more sincere than she had been in a long time.

"Emily!" Brett nearly shrieked, understanding the weight of her nervous tone. "I meant that," she said sadly, barely touching Foster's elbow, drawing her eyes. "I bet she WAS heartbroken." Brett took a deep breath and maintained eye contact with the now erratic looking woman. "I know I would be."

crickets

Foster shook her head hard and flagged down another drink. She was speechless, which was a very uncommon occurrence for her. Torn between being meant to feel ashamed and flattered, she stewed in the awkwardness for another solid minute before speaking.

"Brett, I honestly don't know how to feel about anything that comes out of your mouth anymore," she admitted, leaning back in her chair as Brett stood near-but not too near-to her. "After today, I don't know when you're being real and when you're not."

"You think I'd say something like that to be rude to you?! You think that I'm not jealous of every single person that gets your attention enough for you to want to date them?" Brett's eyes went wide as soon as the words were out of her mouth, not fully realizing that she felt that way, let alone would be so quick to admit it. Damn you, alcohol.

"Jealous?" Foster asked in a mere whisper, equally surprised by Brett's admission.

"Otis?!" Brett said almost violently, ripping his attention away from the customer he was currently serving.

From across the room, Stella swore and shook her head. She'd been watching the interaction and filling in the words as if she was watching a telenovela. It took Brett's terror squeak to make her realize that the dialogue she'd been making up wasn't too far off.

Otis had new drinks in both Brett and Foster's hands within the minute and they sat in tense silence as they drank them (too quickly).

It took nearly four minutes of glancing at one and other before quickly looking away. It took gulping nearly three-quarters of their drinks, respectively. It took sixty-five hand fidgets, thirteen glances toward Stella, and twenty-seven leg taps before the silence was broken.

"Yes," Brett said, taking a deep breath and looking to the ceiling. "Jealous."