“So tell me about this guy.”

“Who?” I looked up from my panini to Rachel, awash in the yellow-tinted shadow of the umbrella above us. She’d asked me out to lunch, and I only had misgivings until she offered to pay. Give me free food and I was yours for an hour, or however long it took me to consume and digest my meal.

“Your new boy toy.”

I made a face. “What?”

She snapped her taloned fingers. “The guy you ditched me and my friends for? The one you mentioned in passing five minutes ago in that way that you think is nonchalant but is the total opposite?”

“Do you always use the word ‘nonchalant’ in normal conversations?”

“Do you always avoid the subject?”

I rolled my eyes with a groan, swallowing a lump of sandwich. “I’m not avoiding it. What do you want me to tell you? We hang out sometimes and fuck. What’s the big deal?”

“Because you keep checking your phone.”

“My mom is supposed to call me,” I lied.

Rachel lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow with such familiar skepticism that it was as if we were still in high school, smoking pot out by the chainlink fence that surrounded our football field. She never ate my bullshit without catching a whiff first. “What’s his name?”

“Duncan.”

“I wanna see the pics and know the deets.”

“The deets?”

“Would you stop being such a snob about what words I use and talk to me?”

“I thought deets went out of fashion in, like, 2010.”

“Yeah, you know all about the most up-to-date fashions.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m just saying that racoon-eyes were an early 2000s thing.”

I pursed my lips in annoyance. “It’s my signature look.”

“Remember when you used to straighten your hair and dye the tips?” She lifted a hand to her mouth and laughed. “And I got my belly button pierced.”

“You ripped it out standing up against a table edge, right?”

“Yeah.” She reached out to grab her drink, taking a sip. “It was a dumb investment. Kept getting infected anyway.”

I wasn’t happy with discussion of my high school stupidity, but it was preferable to my current stupidity. Unfortunately, Rachel would not be distracted or deterred.

“Justin. The deets.”

“Fine. Christ.” I grabbed my phone and navigated toward my Facebook app. Duncan had accepted my friend request and sent me messages whenever he was bored or in the mood. Some of the messages were pretty mundane. Others were filthy. We’d met up yesterday to fuck at his apartment, and we went out to dinner afterward, which was nice. There was still an edge to him, some kind of line that I wasn’t allowed past. He didn’t talk much about his family, though he made passing mentions of the trouble he got into in high school. Most of it had been detentions and one in-school suspension for a joint in his locker. I was the kind of person who needed to see past the veneer, and the thicker it was, the harder I tried. Who knew if I actually wanted to date Duncan or if I only wanted him because I saw him as a challenge.

I found a photo of Duncan and showed it to Rachel, who whistled.

“Damn. He looks like what you’d get if you crossed a k-pop dude with Slayer.”

That… actually summed him up pretty well. “And he’s 6’2”.”

“Oh wow, you know his height and everything.”

“He might have mentioned it to me.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome—you got all three there.”

“The tats are a nice addition.” And a lovely dick. “He’s actually a tattoo artist.”

“And a bad boy, I assume.”

I shrugged. “He’s been good for me.”

“Are you two just fucking, or are you a thing now?”

“Uh, we hang out and fuck.”

“Ah.”

There was a short silence, and I tapped my fingers on the laminated tabletop for a moment.

“Do you think there’s any potential there?” Rachel asked.

“For what?”

“For a boyfriend.”

“I dunno.” I grabbed the panini and finished it off, chewing slowly as to have an excuse not to respond immediately. “It’s not something I’m focused on.”

“Mhm.” Again, the eyebrow was up.

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“Justin, you are the thirstiest, neediest bitch I’ve ever met. You know how many times I had to haul your sobbing drunk ass home because some man never returned your texts?”

“That—that is not true!”

“And I know we haven’t been hanging out for a few years, but I don’t think you’ve changed that much.”

“Oh, like you’ve never been mad about a guy who can’t get serious.”

“Yeah, but I’m not lying to myself about it.”

I frowned, turning my glare to my glass of water.

Rachel’s face softened and she reached across the table to rest a hand on my wrist. “Justin, I’m trying to look after you. You’ve always tried to act like this bad bitch, but I think you played that act in high school because you had to. We’re done with high school. Maybe it’s time to take better care of what you want, not what dudes you meet in bars want.”

I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t want to be rude. Of course, I tended to be rude anyway. “No offense, Rachel, but we haven’t hung out in years. I’m not the same person you knew before.”

“When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”

“Five months ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I hoped she didn’t push, or else I’d have to lie about who he was. Rachel had never liked Dylan, and I recalled them fighting on one or two occasions. Dylan was one of the main reasons we had stopped talking and hanging out. I wasn’t interested in revisiting the humiliation of going back to him and getting the same result I’d had years prior. Because I was a moron, and I didn’t need anyone to remind me of it.

“Why’d you break up?”

“Uh…” I fidgeted in my chair. “He was an ass.”

“Did he cheat on you?”

“No.”

“Cuz you have a real penchant for cheaters.”

“Yeah, I get it. I have terrible taste in men. Did you just ask me out to lunch to tell me this?”

“I’m not attacking you.”

“You did call me the thirstiest, neediest bitch you’ve ever met.”

“I was joking. Well, sort of.” Rachel sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You just frustrate me, which I’m sure you know.”

It wasn’t a new sentiment. I frustrated Josh, too. It was probably one of the reasons we’d broken up.

“What about your dating life, huh? Why we gotta get into mine instead?”

“Eh, I’ve been trying and failing at dating. But I’m not willing to put up with men’s bullshit like you are. If they’re not interested in long-term relationships, then I kick them to the curb.”

“What about women?”

“Turns out there are way more straight men in the world than bisexual and lesbian women,” Rachel said, slurping down some of her fruit juice. “It’s easier to date straight men. Just slap a picture on your dating profile and bam, fifty messages in your inbox.”

“Yeah, but how many of those messages are worth anything? It could be a quality versus quantity issue.”

“That’s true. No women have asked me to suck on their clit as a conversation starter, so that’s nice. But men answer their damn messages. Women are flaky as hell. Straight men want to get laid so badly that they’ll answer any text, no matter what time of day. But once you fuck, good luck getting hold of them.” Rachel sighed, slumping in her chair. “Dating sucks even when you have two options.”

“Amen to that.” I clinked my glass against hers. “Now you know why I stick to fucking.”