"You don't have to worry about me, Rachel."
She crossed her arms, her tone serious now. "I know you won't say anything about tonight. I'm not worried about you, I could always trust you."
"Then what are you worried about?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
She stepped closer, her voice softening. "I'm worried about myself. I'm in a real mood today, Michael, and I need you to decide how you're going to handle me. You can be a gent and get me through tonight untouched, but you don't have to. I can feel the fabric on my skin, and the drinks that I had, and the drinks that I still want to have. I can look at creepy guys in there and think that maybe they aren't as bad as they clearly are. I clearly need your help, but I'm not sure what kind of help."
He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his glass. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.
"Okay," she said, her voice firm. "You didn't outright tell me no, that means one part of you is game. I meant what I saidyou can have me tonight, but only if you don't beat around the bush and tell me what's what."
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