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stranger. “My name is Blake, and this is my friend and co-worker, Jae,” I explain, leaning back slightly so the two of them can shake hands as well.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Would you two ladies be interested in joining me and some friends over there?” He pauses to point to an area where several tables have been pushed together, and five or six males and females are sitting with drinks in front of them. “We’d love to buy you both a round or two.”
    My initial reaction is to say no, but before I can get the one-syllable word out of my mouth, Jae answers, “We’d love to. Wouldn’t we, Blake?”
    The bartender sets a pilsner, filled with an amber-colored liquid, in front of us at that moment, and Greg looks up at him and says, “Put those on my tab, Billy, and anything else they want.”
    Again, a decision has been made for me, and I’m following the two of them over to the small group of people, now all looking up at us. Greg introduces us to his friends, and I’m unable to remember any of their names due to the nerves turning my stomach and wild thoughts racing through my head. A couple of them scoot over to make room for us, and for the first fifteen minutes, I sit quietly, gulping my cider faster than I should and hoping no one asks me any questions.
    “So, Blake, where are you from?”
    Damn it. I peer up from my glass to see who’s asked me the question. Everyone at the table is staring at me, so I have no idea who it was. Surprisingly, with the help of liquid courage, I find my voice and answer the question.
    “Originally I’m from out east, but I’ve been in Woodland Hills for almost a month now,” I say to anyone and everyone paying attention. To my relief, Jae begins talking about our job and how we’ve recently met, and no one asks any other questions about the specifics of my past. As much as I hate lying, I know I should come up with a consistent, believable story to tell people if I’m going to begin to have social interactions; no one would believe the truth if I told them anyway.
    The next several hours are filled with a glass that never empties, plates of fried food being passed around, and plenty of conversation around me. Greg and all of his friends seem to be very nice, and I enjoy hanging out with them, as well as Jae; however, I still find it difficult to let my guard down, to feel comfortable. At one point, she leans over and whispers in my ear, “Are you expecting someone you know to show up?”
    Crinkling my brow in confusion, I shake my head. “No, why?”
    “Every time the door opens, you look to see who’s walking in,” she replies inquisitively.
    I’m not even aware of my action, and hoping she doesn’t push the matter, I reply, “I like to know who I’m sharing a room with.”
    “Understand,” she responds with a mischievous smile. I’m sure she assumes I mean I like to know what men are in the room with me, and in a way, she’s right—just not for the reasons she thinks.
    When my face begins to overheat and my belly starts to turn over angrily, I know it’s time for me to call it a night. Thankfully, Jae is in tune with my timing, and she announces to the table we need to get going. After a round of pleasantries and goodbyes, we scoot our chairs out and stand up to leave. Just before we make our way to the door, Greg abruptly jumps to his feet and pulls me into an embrace, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. The unexpected movement frightens me, and my initial reaction is to press my palms against his chest and push him away.
    “I’m so sorry,” we both say at the same time. I’m embarrassed by my rude behavior.
    Trying to ease the uncomfortable situation, he pats my arm softly. “It was nice meeting you, Blake. I do hope to see you here again sometime.”
    I smile reservedly and nod. “You too,” is the only thing I can think to say.
    After teasing me about Greg and his incredibly awkward hug during the ten minute drive, Jae drops me