Parlez-vous français?

Do I speak French? Ehh...not really, but that wasn't about to stop me.

Walking toward the bar, we started making our introductions. I'd almost reached a stool when I looked back to see if Danielle had caught a moment I was cackling about when I saw that I was alone — with all of them. Bobbing my head left and right, I saw she was caught talking to the new bride we'd met at the rooftop club and we communicated like we did when we were teens — awkward facial expressions and hand gestures. What I had interpreted was that she was stuck with said bride who had decided that she and Danielle were now best friends — not today lady. Not today. I pulled a classic waltz-like dance move to set her free and Dani and I made our way back to the bar.

As soon as we sat, un monsieur — who his friends referred to as "Wallet" — bought a round of drinks. Conversation was actually pretty easy. As a reporter, I do really well being direct and honest with perfect strangers. Through the inquiry, Dani and I learned that our international friends had come to the city that never sleeps for gambling. Some were professional players. Having never met any professional poker players, Dani and I continued to ask what they "do" for a living. They laughed. Whether it was the alcohol or not, we couldn't really accept that they were able to sustain a living from playing poker alone. We looked at each other and shrugged. When the career question came my way, I explained that I was a reporter, only to receive a mocking response from one we'll call "Etienne." I was kind of put off. What was his deal?

As the conversation continued, another fella, we'll call him "Jean," asked about our relationship statuses. I explained, quite simply, that I no longer felt feelings and that I was dead inside. Unconvinced that charm couldn't be considered, Jean motioned to let's call him "Gill" and Etienne as potential suitors. Gill, though very handsome was far too young even if I were interested. And Etienne, well, he was rude as hell at everything I said.

"No, no, no," Jean said. "It's a...how you say...a thing."

Wait, this was his attempt to flirt or court? Damn. "Well it's not working," I remember saying. I think I went as far as to call him "kind of an asshole." Come to find out, he, too, was a reporter, which was why he felt the need to tease. Despite that, I was still a little put off by him. Unrelenting, he came in closer to my face and started to offer up compliments. He had this intensity as he spoke that, under different circumstances or even better introductions, I might be attracted to. By the next round of drinks, I started to loosen up a little more. I still felt a little uncomfortable with myself, but we were laughing and having fun with perfect strangers, so I stopped focusing on all my problems.

Jean, in fact, even threw himself into the mix, saying that while he was married, he was in an "open relationship." He showed us a picture of his beautiful wife via Facebook and decided to share how he wasn't crazy about the idea of an open relationship when his wife had first proposed the concept. But at that moment, he said he would consider either of us, should we offer ourselves to him. Good to know, but...I really wasn't interested in entering into side-piece-dom. Thinking back, I still have no idea how he ended up adding me on Facebook...

Having taken Spanish and knowing some basic French, I found myself able to follow much more of their side conversation than I had expected. When called upon to share some of my extensive knowledge of the language, I immediately started counting. Etienne cut me off before I hit quatre and started to tell me how he wanted to "make love" to me. This of course, prompted me to panic. I mean, I hadn't been with anyone in a long time and I still had flashbacks regularly. I got up and went to the bathroom. I ran into a stall and cried. Why couldn't I stop being scared? I shook it off, washed my hands and headed back out only to find Etienne waiting for me. He even intercepted me before I made it back to the corner in front of the bar. As I dodged his initial advance, he threw his arms up tucking me into a corner of a pillar. He whispered extensive flattery in a Frenglish mixture and delivered a row of kisses up my neck. What I do remember of the conversation, he assured me that he wouldn't hurt me and that he needed to love on me.

During my bathroom run, Dani had apparently taken the time to briefly explain all the strife I had experienced. To my surprise, Etienne seemed almost offended that he would even be lumped in with someone who might even consider treating me like that. He had his own baggage, but he certainly seemed genuine. Shortly after that, my phone died and Dani's did too.

Etienne's intentions became a little more apparent when he threw his hand in Dani's face and said, "you go now. I will take her." He insisted on taking me back — to his place. Being a good friend, Dani wanted to make sure I didn't get murdered by my French Romeo, and offered to tag along. We figured, you know, if you were a French murderer, you aren't going to murder two girls in one night. Ohhh, the rationale of alcohol.

He wasn't exactly pleased, but considering both of our phones were dead and Uber couldn't even be contacted...it made the most sense.

So, of course, we got in a stranger's car and followed him to wherever he lived.