Cocktail Hour by Tara McTiernan

“Please, don’t worry about it,” she said, averting her eyes. 
    Luckily, just then Samantha placed Sharon’s martini on a cocktail napkin in front of her, interrupting the awkward moment. “Here you go. Well, Dean, I’d talk to you all day, but believe it or not, I have to earn my keep. Don’t worry; I’ll keep an eye on you.”
    “Thank you, heavenly angel,” Dean said, looking at Samantha and regaining his normal coloring and composure. “And please, both eyes.”
    “If you’re lucky,” Samantha replied in a sing-song voice as she sauntered away, wiggling the fingers of one hand over her shoulder at him and walking with an exaggerated hip-sway that seemed, and probably was, deliberate.
    Sharon picked up her drink and turned to him, trying to figure out a way to thank him and get away quickly. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to buy me a drink. It was nice of you.”
    “But of course I did! You know...I know I make a lot of noise some nights, and you never complain. You’re like the world’s greatest neighbor, or something.”
    Sharon’s breath caught. He knew he was keeping her up? And he kept on doing it? She stared at him, rendered mute by shock and then flooding anger. He knew. The whole time. He probably also knew how early she had to be at work, saw her car pull out of her driveway in the pale creeping light of early morning.
    "Ooo," he said, eyes bugging out a little, both hands going up in mock surrender. "That's not a good look. Have I kept you awake?"
    Sharon put her drink back down on the bar and turned to him. Keeping her voice low and steady she said, "What do you think?"
    He opened his mouth and looked like he was thinking hard, his eyes going back and forth, searching for an answer.
    Sharon didn't wait. "If you knew you were being loud, why didn't you keep it down? Do you know how hard it is to sleep when screaming people keep waking you up all night? Two am? Three am? Sometimes I don't even bother trying to go back to sleep, especially when it's already four and I have to be up soon. I just make coffee and suffer through the day."
    Dean's mouth was opening and closing like a fish. Finally he managed, "I, I didn't-"
    "No, I really don't want to hear it. And thanks but no thanks for the drink. I can buy my own," Sharon said, spun on her heel, and stalked away, slowing and turning sideways to edge through groupings of strivers when they blocked her path. She was going home. She'd call Chelsea once she got there to explain. The company directory with her co-worker's phone number on it was in her work folder filed under 'T' in her home office's filing cabinet. She'd take some Advil after all.
    Pushing through yet another cluster of men near the door, she almost slammed right into Chelsea, who was posed by the door, hip cocked, in another one of her expensive-looking outfits.
    Chelsea's expression, a manufactured one of disdain and oh-so-coolness, brightened and became more natural seeing her co-worker. "Sharon! There you are!"
    Sharon, stumbling to a stop, raised her hands up, palms out. “I’m sorry, Chelsea, but I’m out of here.”
    Chelsea’s face crumpled, her lower lip popping out. “No! But…I was so excited to hang with you? Please? Pretty pretty please? With sugar and ice cream on top?”
    Sharon shook her head, but felt herself giving in just looking at the girl she had grown to genuinely like. Under the blond bimbo exterior was a smart girl whose whip-sharp observations regularly caught Sharon off-guard. At the same time Chelsea had a sweet and helpless side, reminding Sharon of a little wide-eyed kitten. Chelsea had "help me" written all over her, her good heart being her biggest weakness and making her target for the users in the world. She brought out Sharon's protective instincts. “Oh. I don’t know. Okay. One drink. One. Then I’m out of here.”
    “Goody-goody-goody!” Chelsea said, bopping up and down and bringing her hands together to patter them quickly