There was a stripper in my lap.

      I should have been happy. I should have giggled and hooted, and enthusiastically placed a bill under the strap of his tiny, bulging black underwear, as any of my drunk friends would have. But looking at the chiseled, six-foot piece of art in front of me, through flashing lights, I couldn't help but think: "Get this sweaty man's crotch out of my face!"

      This was doing nothing for me. There was no arousal. Not even a hint of it. There was just sweat, sore cheeks from an exaggerated smile, and the squirming in my seat... And not the subtle squirming in attempt to find the perfect angle against the crotch line of your pants. It was squirming to halt my restless legs from making an exit.

      Eons passed before the song came to an end, and when it did, I didn't hesitate to jump into action. Eagerly I guided Angel, one of our strippers of the night, towards Lada. Lada's smirk was as crooked as the tube top that she was wearing, a testament to her enjoyment of the night. Many empty glasses were found on her table. The strippers had been her idea, afterall. Had I been the sole organizer of Quinn's bachelorette party, I likely would have foregone the naked dancers, or at least bought the bride to be a private dance. A private dance that I would not have to witness.

      The beat dropped, new rhythm successfully marking my urgency to escape. If I lingered any longer, I'd find myself the victim of another lap dance. I returned Angel's dashing smile with a forced one of my own and made a beeline for the bar. My face had endured its maximum amount of crotch sweat for the night.

      "Another martini," I asked the bartender. The bartender, Jane according to her name tag, didn't miss a beat, reaching for the bottle without a backwards glance. "Heavy on the gin."

      She cocked a brow but indulged in my request. Downing half the glass in one large gulp, I met the woman's wide eyes with a painful smile. The grimace on my face had nothing to do with the alcohol burning down my throat. "I'm not really vibing with this turn in the night," I admitted.

      "No kidding." Jane pulled a stool on her end, as if to sit and chat. She never got to feed her curiosity of my misery. She was interrupted by the chipper squeaking of my name.

      "Yasmine!"

      I cringed. There was no denying who that was. Through my peripheral vision, I saw Quinn approach from across the room. I'd recognize that bouncing colorful head of pure enthusiasm anywhere. Blue hair pulled into a loose bun, tonight she rocked a pink halter dress and silver heels, that coincidently matched the Bachelorette ribbon on her chest. Quinn was my oldest, childhood friend, the first friend that I had made back in kindergarten. So, though I couldn't find it in myself to enjoy the naked dancing and flirting, the joy on her face was palpable. And when Quinn was happy, you couldn't help but share the sentiment.

       I turned back towards Jane, desperation heavy in my brown eyes. "On second thought, could you make me a second one?"

      Hesitation and concern briefly flashing across her pale features, I waved a twenty-dollar bill across the counter and all protests were forgotten. She sought the gin bottle, and I brought the glass to my lips the moment she was done. By the look of Quinn's unsteady gait, I guessed I had another couple of seconds of peace.

      Mind buzzing as I waited, with a hazy vision, I came to a conclusion: People didn't get wasted at Bachelorettes as a form of celebration. They got drunk because Bachelorettes' suck. As my third of the year and a very, very single Lebanese woman, I could attest that they were nowhere near as fun as people made them out to be. What happened to the dancing, drinking, and making memories with old friends? Why the strip clubs and naked dancers? Was the reminder of my dreadful relationship status necessary?

      "Yasmine!" Quinn had reached me. Words slurred, she tumbled into me. She hugged me from behind and wrapped her petite arms around my neck.

      "Quinn!" I mimicked her enthusiasm.

      "Isn't this great?" she asked, nearly missing the bar stool next to mine. I steadied the wobbling seat.

      "Mmm." I nodded in agreement.

       As much as I would prefer to gauge my eyes out with a fork than submit myself to the torture of another Bachelorette, I wouldn't ruin her day. This part. The interacting with your drunk best friend part, wasn't so bad. It was actually quite pleasant. Truthfully the only downfall was the strippers. As talented as they were, as much as I could admire their strength and grace, I simply could not get over my uneasiness around dancing naked bodies, especially when they had the uncanny ability to pick me out of a crowd of taken individuals. I thought stripping was as admirable of a job as any, but it was not my thing.

      "Someday this will be you," Quinn promised, gesturing towards her sash and crown.

      "Can't wait." I smiled weightily, downing the last of my glass. Quinn scootching closer with marked interest on her flushed features, I beckoned the bartender for a third glass.

     "Really," Quinn assured, patting my knee. "Someday soon. Very soon."

      "Doubt it."

      Green eyes flicking to Angel, who had moved to Sabelia's lap, she grinned, wiggling her notched brows suggestively. She was not going there.

      "Angel seems to have his eye on you." She went there.

      I crinkled my nose disapprovingly. "He's being paid to pay attention to us." When he was off work, he wouldn't dare throw a glance my way.

       "You've gotten twice as many lap dances as anyone else, and I'm the bachelorette."

       "Stripper," I reminded. "He's doing his job: Dancing seductively in horny women's laps." Except I was far from horny.

       She rolled her eyes, waving flirtatiously as Angel grinned across the room. Turning just as soon towards the other end of the room, she sent an equally flirtatious wave to Angele. The blonde, the second of our two hired strippers, had taken a pause from dancing, distracted by whatever crystal Bella was offering her.

       "I can't choose which one I like best," Quinn studied both Angel and Angele with admiration.

       "Go talk to them," I suggested. "That'll help you decide."

        My plan to get her back on the dance floor failed. Green eyes returned to the half-naked man. "He seems to be paying you extra attention."

      "It's the exuding loneliness," I reasoned. "He's spotted the only single 28-year-old in the room. He's playing the cards that will likely pull him the most money."

       "You've barely given him anything," she countered.

       "I don't want to touch him," I admitted sheepishly. "His money collector is much too close to places my hands ought not be. Here's twenty bucks, you go place it."

       She ignored the bill I held out. "You don't want to touch him?" she asked dumbfoundedly, olive eyes nearly popping out of her head.

       "Not in the slightest bit."

       Quinn's jaw fell to the floor, stunned silence overtaking her. Moments like that were rare with Quinn Crawford. I snuck a glance at my watch; that had to be a record.

      "You've got to be kidding," she finally managed.

      "Nope." I took another large gulp of my drink.

      "But look at him!"

      "I'm looking," I retorted. I had been looking all night; at both him and Angele, hoping to feel anything. Even the slightest inkling of excitement as my friends. Again, I could admire they're beauty and grace, but nothing more came of it. "And it's not changing anything."

      With a dramatic outburst of surprise, Quinn nearly fell off her seat. "I can't even... You— How?" she spluttered. Ears twitching suddenly, head swinging up like a dog to a doorbell, when a Britney song came on, Quinn was up on her feet in a matter of seconds. God bless the legend for saving me. "We are so talking about this later."

      "Let's not—"

      She ignored me. "I've got a proposition... I'll have to call a group meeting. It's about time we addressed this."

      I groaned. Once Quinn had something in mind, it was nearly impossible to convince her otherwise. Stubborn as a mule that girl, and very much a meddler. I was in trouble. I crossed my fingers with the hope that she had consumed enough alcohol to forget this conversation.

       "Please," I begged, though I knew it was useless. "No team meeting. There's nothing to talk—"

       Pressing a thin, sticky with alcohol, finger to my lips, she shushed me. "Later," she repeated. "Come on, Yaz! Dance with me; let's worry about this later."

       As wary as I was, I couldn't deny Quinn's pleading eyes. Following her bouncing lead, I prayed she would forget about the conversation she had promised.

       She didn't forget. Quinn Crawford, soon to be Crawford-Jones never forgot. I should have known better.

       Club Serenity having long kicked us out, we were spread out in a rented yellow bus, on our way to crash at Sabi's. Alcohol was replaced with coffee, water, and Tylenol; a last attempt to prevent raging hangovers in the morning.

       Just as I had let myself relax in the chewed-up leather seat, from the seat across from mine, Quinn cleared her throat. "Dear friends," she announced dramatically, standing atop the uneven bench. Which was definitely not a great idea considering her lingering tipsy state, and the many potholes that lead to Sabi's middle of nowhere home. "I thank you all for throwing me the best Bachelorette. T'was a great night, but as it comes to an end, I'll ask you all one thing..."

        Jumping to my feet with my arms out, ready to catch her before she cracked her head open only days before her wedding, I made the mistake of being a nice person. Dismally earning her attention, she grinned madly. That ear-to-ear grin was never a good sign.

      "Yasmine," she began with utmost enthusiasm. I fell back in my seat, hiding in anticipation. She could crack her head open if she'd like. "Needs our help."

       "I do not need help," I countered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Please sit down before you hurt yourself."

       She paid my protest no concern. "I'm calling a meeting," she announced. "A very important meeting regarding Yasmine's love life, or lack thereof."

       Chorus of excited gasps and chatter, everyone was listening, inching closer to better offer opinions that I didn't want to hear.

      "Quinn," I groaned, elongating her name.

      "Besides the obvious, what's the problem?" Lada inquired leaning interestedly over my seat. Straight blonde curtain framing her long face, she removed my hands from my face. "What's brought this on?"

      Resuming her dramatic role, Quinn surveyed the group with utmost sincerity. "Yaz is the last singleton of our group," she broadcasted gravely. Impossibly, I shrunk deeper into the leather seat.

       "Not true," Josie protested from somewhere in the back. "I am also very single."

       Everyone snorted. In technical terms, sure Josie was single, but everyone knew where her friendship with Jamie was heading.

       "Considering that the minute you or Jamie stop being oblivious you will no longer be single, you don't count," Quinn decided. "Yaz doesn't have an oblivious idiot waiting at her feet. And if we wish to throw her a bachelorette party before we turn gray, something must be done."

       "Excuse me?" I protested.

      "Yasmine dear." She regarded me seriously. "You are placing zero effort in the procurement of a relationship."

      "I've better things to do," I grumbled.

       "Thus, where we come in. We do all the work; you just sit there and look pretty."

       "No."

       It seemed everyone was going to ignore my protests, tonight. "What are you proposing?" Sabi inquired.

        "A competition," Quinn answered. "We give ourselves four months. Give ourselves until Josie's 25th birthday party to find Yaz a partner. Whoever succeeds gets free drinks at all future parties."

       Bus volume rising again, my so-called friends excited to meddle in my life, I jumped up in protest. "Absolutely not!"

       "Yaz—"

       "No way." I crossed my arms over my chest.

        "Don't you want to find someone?" Lada probed, blinking innocently. Awful, guilt-tripper she was. Lada was anything but innocent, she was the type to disappear in the middle of the night with strange men, preferably multiple at a time, or stick around and place your hand in a bowl of water at sleepovers. Well not so much that first part, anymore. She had married a few months ago. Married to her last strange man, who really was a great guy.

       "Well—"

      They took advantage of my slight hesitation. "Then let us do this for you," Sabelia insisted.

      "What's the worst that can happen? You meet someone that makes you happy?" Quinn added.

       "Come off as desperate? Get my mom's hopes up? Embarrass myself in front of countless suitors?" I offered.

      "You won't embarrass yourself," Sabi reassured, always the pacifier.

       "I beg to differ." Did she not know me?

       "You've never been in a relationship. You've never even been on a date," Quinn refuted. "You can't know you'll embarrass yourself."

       "I know I regularly embarrass myself in front of the general population, add romantic intentions? Not good."

       "You're being ridiculous," Quinn rebuked.

       "This whole idea is ridiculous."

      "There is nothing ridiculous with wanting to set up your best friend with a nice man."

       "I don't want you setting me up with anyone."

       "That's strange," Lada interjected, blinking her owlish blue eyes with feigned purity. Always the manipulator. "It almost sounds like you don't trust our opinion in partners."

      "I don't," I said without a beat of hesitation. I wouldn't fall victim to her manipulation.

      "Excuse me!" Quinn objected, "I like to think we chose some pretty darn great partners for ourselves."

       "I agree... For the most part." I didn't dare look in Sabelia's direction. "But as great as they are, none are my type. So, you can't relate."

       "Then what's your type?" Quinn challenged.

       I groaned, falling back into my seat. They wouldn't give up. Couldn't a woman just procrastinate her entire life? Relationships were so much work. Or at least they seemed to be. It's not like I had real life experience to fortify that statement.

       "No, really," Quinn urged. "This is important. Knowing your type, increases our chances of success."

       Huffing in defeat, I played with my thumbs. "I don't know."

       "You don't know?" Quinn asked incredulously.

       "Surely you must know what you like?" Lada added.

       "As you've so plainly pointed out, I've never dated."

        "You don't have to date someone to know you like them," Lada said. "Surely these people have similar traits."

       "There's no people."

     Every head looming over my seat wore a pair of wide, perplexed eyes.

      "Why are you so reluctant to tell us about who you've liked?" Sabelia prodded gently.

      "There's no one to talk about."

      The chorus of incredulous laughter that followed proved they thought the idea preposterous. They thought I was pulling their legs, anxiously waiting for me to spill the tea of all of my past crushes. When few moments passed and no reciprocated giggle escaped my lips, disbelief turned to puzzlement.

       "You're being serious?" Quinn asked dubiously.

       Feeling small under their peering eyes, I nodded.

       "You've never had a crush?" Lada didn't believe me either.

      "Never."

       "How is that possible?" Quinn demanded.

        I shrugged shyly. How was I supposed to answer that? "I don't know a lot of people."

       "But—" she tried. "I mean..." Quinn couldn't find words. There seemed to be nothing as perplexing to Quinn then the idea of not spending every waking hour of the day searching for love.

       "What about Jimmy?" Josie asked.

      I shook my head immediately.

       "But you kissed him," she preserved.

       I cringed at the mere thought of that unfortunate five seconds of my life. "Don't remind me." I shut my eyes dramatically. "I say it hardly counts. I hear kissing is a lip thing, but there was no lip. Just tongue. And it was shoved so far down my throat that I feared I might swallow it."

       Girls chuckling at my ineptness, they shook their heads hopelessly.

       "Still," Sabi reasoned. "You must have wanted to kiss him."

       I shook my head again without hesitation. "It was a dare and I panicked."

        "And you haven't enjoyed kissing since?" Lada's mouth was practically agape.

        "There hasn't been anything to enjoy."

        "Yasmine!" Quinn exclaimed exasperatedly.

       "In my defence, I didn't have much incentive to pursue a second."

     "I don't believe this." Lada placed a calloused hand to her forehead. I furrowed my brows at their reactions. I thought they were being a little dramatic.

     "What about Landon, the prom date?" Sabi tried.

     "He was just a prom date," I answered. "He was nice, but he was just there for the pictures; there to please my mom."

      The girls were silent, as if the declaration of the extent of my lack of a romantic past was some sort of life changing revelation.

     "This is worse than I thought," Quinn finally declared. There went my last inkling of hope that she might drop the subject. "I knew you were a virgin, but I thought you had some experience."

     "It's not a big deal." I defended. It's not like I couldn't get some if I really wanted it.

      "But don't you want to get laid?" Lada inquired.

      I lifted my shoulder, lips puckered nonchalantly. "It's not really something I think about."

      "Oh honey," Bella called from the back. Always in her own little world, she put her crystals away. Brushing her purple pixie length hair behind her heavily pierced ear, she watched me seriously. "You are in need of a deep sexual awakening... I already have an idea for my set-ups!"

       Burying my head in my arms, I moaned. "Someone pinch me," I requested. "This has got to be a nightmare."

       "Do not fear, Yaz." Quinn patted my arm reassuringly. "We're coming to your rescue."

      "That's what I'm afraid of."

      "Enough of this self-loathing." Lada pulled my arms away from my head. "Help us help you. Is there anything you can tell us about what you look for in a guy?"

      Briefly considering my answer, racking my brain for any type of hint, I shook my head. Lada sighed.

      "Are you even sure you're into guys?" Sabi asked.

      "Of course—" I started confidently, but upon reconsideration... I really had no reason to be. Did I like guys? Had I been gay this whole time? "I... I don't know."

       Brows shot into hairlines as I only became a greater puzzle. Unfortunately, they wouldn't let me solve this puzzle on my own.

       "You could be into both," Sabelia reasoned.

      I nodded absentmindedly.

      "I mean you weren't into the stripper," Quinn commented.

       "You weren't attracted to him?" Lada blinked ridiculously.

      "She didn't want to touch him," Quinn answered on my behalf.

      Bus falling silent again, all that was heard was Lada's fascinated whistle. The bus's emergency exit was growing more and more enticing.

       "I think the girl theory is the way to go then," Josie declared.

      "But it's not like I've wanted to touch a woman either." Surely there would have been a better way to phrase that.

      There was only a beat of silence. God forbid my friends went a few minutes without voicing their opinions.

      "Sexual awakening!" Bella cried pointedly from the back. "I just think you need to explore that whole part of your life."

       "I like you better when you're quiet," I called back.

      "Just stating facts."

      Before I could disagree, Quinn was agreeing. Of course, she was. "Bella's right."

      "I tell you that the talking part alone of relationships is enough to make a fool of myself, and your brilliant suggestion is sex?"

      "It's brilliant," she declared. "And your mouth will be busy, no need for talking."

       Unfolding my arms, I narrowed my eyes at my best friend.

       "But seriously," Quinn started solemnly, bouncing with excitement. "This is a great idea, Sabi tell her it's a great idea."

       Always the rationalizer, Sabi took a few moments to gather her thoughts. "It could definitely work," she eventually concluded, much to my dismay. "If it's just sex, if it's just a one-night stand, there's no commitment. No pressure... It's exactly what you need, to put yourself out there. We set you up, you decide what to do with it, whether it be just a date, sex, or a relationship. Explore. Find out what works best for you."

       Quinn grinned, hugging Sabi tightly, as everyone nodded along to her words.

       "Sabi," I moaned. "You're the one person I thought would take my side."

       "Sorry," she said, very much unapologetically. "It just makes sense."

        Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I still think it's a horrible idea." As nauseating as their idea was, as much as every one of my instincts screamed no, I felt a timid part of me succumbing to their insistence. Maybe they were right. And... it would be nice to get everyone off my back.

        "You're the only one who does," Quinn sang, using their number to her advantage.

       I didn't budge. The silence was indicative of their awaiting of my acceptance of their offer, but I didn't utter a word. I couldn't find it in myself to speak the words of acceptance, anxiety swirling up my chest and into my throat.

      "Come on, Yaz," Lada finally spoke, voice considerably softer. "Would we ever screw you over?"

       "Well—"

      "The answer is no. We only want the best for you."

       "And do you really want to stay single for the rest of your life?" Quinn pried gently.

       Playing with my thumbs, I chewed my lower lip. There were so many other things I wanted to focus on. I just didn't see the point in forcing it. I had never shown an interest in going out of my way to date. I still didn't... But maybe for an interest to build, I first had to put a conscious effort. How was I to learn to like someone if I didn't try to meet new people? I was in no particular rush, but I didn't care for the strange glances I received when people learned of my relationship status. It was always the first question relatives asked. Where's the boyfriend? Have you met anyone yet? My solitary status was constantly thrown in my face. I saw the pity; the pity from people who feared that I would wait too long. Feared that I would miss out, and before I knew it, that it would be too late. I would be old and miserable, and incapable of finding a partner. As though love had an age. They looked at me as if I was odd, as if there was certainly something wrong with me if I had never been in a relationship.

        "I guess not," I finally mumbled. If I was single forever, I would always be regarded in that strange way. There was only one way to put an end to these looks.

         "Then it's settled!"

        Grimacing in anticipation of my probable caving, I shifted my gaze between each of my friends. I had always been a push-over. Suddenly warm, and anxious under their scrutinizing, impatient eyes, I didn't stand a chance. Though every part of me was yelling, begging me to do otherwise, I finally gave them my hesitant answer: "Alright."

          Excited cheering startling me like blaring warning alarms, I tried to convince myself that I was being dramatic. This would not go as badly as I believed it would... I had always been the naïve friend of the group.