Around three in the morning, Betsy throws the front door open and is hollering over her shoulder as loud as she possibly can.

"Don't even talk to me you douchebag! You'll be lucky if I don't cut your balls off and feed them to you the next time you try to call me!"

I tentatively emerge from my room, running a hand through my hair to get it out of my face. She's standing in the foyer in a cocktail dress, crooked and disheveled. She smirks with a wad of cash in one hand and her blonde curls falling loose. "Stupid jerk didn't realize I pick-pocketed him."

"Thanks for the wake-up call, Betsy," I say lightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing to really write home about, babe," she replies. "Just one of those bad dates. He took me to this bar and then tried to proposition me to join him and his bartender for some 'fun' in the back room. I declined and then he got all riled up about what a terrible girl I am and how I shouldn't have dressed the way I did if he wasn't gonna get laid at the end of the night."

"Jeez." I head over to the fridge and get her a beer, knowing she'll probably want at least one. "And he followed you home?"

"Oh yeah," she cackles. "Not even because I took all the cash he had in his wallet. He wanted to make sure my no was a hard no. He actually offered to pay me with money he didn't know I'd taken."

Her cheeks are flushed, but after talking about it, she doesn't seem upset so much as amused by the entire situation, which is certainly a good thing. She takes the beer gratefully.

"Damn, Betsy. Where'd you find this creep?"

"Tinder," she answers. "Never doing that again."

"Good call."

"How are things with the hot detective going?" she asks.

"You meddle too much in my love life. It's really nothing to write home about."

"You say that but you've never shown interest in anyone before." She sits down on the arm of the couch with her beer, reaching for the TV remote. "Sue me for being interested in your life."

"I'll let you know when something noteworthy happens, then," I promise, making the motion of crossing my heart.

"You should get a drink and we can watch reruns of Keeping Up With The Kardashians," she declares as she flicks through the channel guide. "If we're lucky, we'll find an episode where Caitlyn is still Bruce."

"I'll have to pass." I rub my eyes. "It's early in the morning and some of us value our sleep."

"I figured I would just start my day now," Betsy says. "It's not like I have anything important to do tomorrow."

"Don't you have work?"

She gives me an apathetic nod. "It's not like it requires much thought. I just pour coffee and listen to people order their usual items."

I give her a hug before heading back to my room. "Have fun with your reality TV, B, I'm going back to bed."

"Night." She waves, setting her bottle down on the table beside her. "Have good dreams about the hot detective guy for me."

I'm glad it's dark in the apartment, because this way, she can't see how embarrassed I am.