{"id":3329,"date":"2016-08-01T07:00:59","date_gmt":"2016-08-01T07:00:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/?p=3329"},"modified":"2019-11-01T08:35:10","modified_gmt":"2019-11-01T08:35:10","slug":"not-joes-not-so-short-short","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/2016\/08\/not-joes-not-so-short-short\/","title":{"rendered":"Not Joe’s Not So Short Short"},"content":{"rendered":"

Surprise!! *confetti cannon* Some of you might remember this little short that appeared in the back of the Target edition of Wicked Sexy Liar.\u00a0We feel very fortunate to\u00a0have readers that span the globe,\u00a0and know that not all of you have access to certain stores. Because of this, our awesome team at Gallery Books made it possible for us to share this little glimpse into Not Joe with\u00a0you, here. Everyone go give\u00a0Gallery Books<\/a> and our editor Adam<\/a> a great big THANK YOU!!<\/p>\n

Now before we get started, we want to remind you that this is just a fun little short, and if you haven’t read any of the books from the Wild Seasons (Sweet Filthy Boy,<\/a> Dirty Rowdy Thing<\/a>, Dark Wild Night,<\/a> Wicked Sexy Liar<\/a>), this probably won’t make any sense, and you should probably go read them now. Go on, we’ll wait…. \u00a0Back? Whew.<\/p>\n

And just so you have the right idea going in, we should probably leave you with this<\/a> . . .<\/p>\n

\"Screen<\/figure>\n

Everyone ready? YES! We hope you enjoy getting into Not Joe’s head a little and getting another glimpse of\u00a0some old friends.\u00a0We never intended to write\u00a0Not Joe’s story, or have him be anything more than a fun little side character, but as sometimes happens, he sort of took on a life of his own. Well, have fun,\u00a0and pop over to twitter<\/a> of fb<\/a> if you want to chat. Remember to preorder BEAUTIFUL <\/a>(only 2\u00a0months now!), and don’t forget to eat your vegetables.\u00a0WE LOVE YOU BYE!<\/p>\n

A Not-Joe Not-So-Short Short<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Not-Joe. Dylan. Goofball. Heartwarming pal. Whatever you call him, he\u2019s been a man of comic mystery to the Wild Seasons group. Now, for the first time, enter into Not-Joe\u2019s world\u2014his glorious, fun-loving world\u2014as he meets none other than Perry . . . Ansel\u2019s ex.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Chapter ONE<\/p>\n

Not-Joe<\/em><\/p>\n

Man, I don\u2019t even know where to look.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t stare right at her eyes, because they\u2019re intense<\/em>\u2014I mean, intense: all swirling blue-green and intimidating . . . But I can\u2019t look at her mouth, either, because I\u2019m a sucker for a good pair of lips, and this pair looks like it could deliver an insult as easily as a kiss. I sure as hell can\u2019t look lower, because she\u2019s fine<\/em>, and poured into some little black out t like she\u2019s stopping by the store first and robbing a bank after.<\/p>\n

And in this very instant I realize with certainty that if it came down to making the hard decision about law versus love, I could date a bank robber.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo Oliver\u2019s not<\/em> here?\u201d she asks slowly, and I nod, registering I haven\u2019t said anything else since she asked to see him and I mumbled, \u201cHe\u2019s not . . .\u201d and she stared blankly at me while I lost my mind over her mouth and criminal hotness.<\/p>\n

She ducks a little, meeting my eyes, and something flips like a fish in my stomach. \u201cDo you expect him back soon?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her French accent is so thick, I feel guilty making her speak English. So, on a whim, I offer the only bone I can, saying a dubious \u201cSprechen sie Deutsch?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

To my amazement, her eyes light up.<\/p>\n

\u201cJa!<\/em>\u201d she says, adding in German, \u201cThis is so much easier. I feel like I am tripping over my words in English.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you are,\u201d I agree in German.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks<\/em>.\u201d She gives me a wry, flirty smile, and I realize I\u2019m staring at her mouth again.<\/p>\n

I thump my chest, coughing to clear my foggy brain. \u201cSo. Oliver should be back later today. Do you want to hang out here and read some stuff? I could recommend something.\u201d<\/p>\n

Please say yes.<\/em><\/p>\n

Please say yes.<\/em><\/p>\n

She looks with mild disgust around the store and then shakes her head.<\/p>\n

And yeah, I get that reaction. The first time I walked into a comic shop, it smelled like dust and old paper, and even though Oliver\u2019s store is as clean and organized as they come, it still gives off that overwhelming sense of color and shape and chaos<\/em>. But that sense is also what made me immediately fall in love with comics. They made me feel like my eyes were moving too fast for my brain. It felt a little like being that tiny kid who decides he wants to run and just takes off, constantly on the edge of falling face-first into the sidewalk.<\/p>\n

But kids learn how to run. For me, the feeling of awe never goes away. And I fucking love it. I love feeling like I\u2019m tripping face-first every time I read a comic. The day things get boring is the day I die.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019s fine,\u201d she says, eyes glued to the huge display of Lola\u2019s graphic novel, Razor Fish<\/em>. After a moment she continues, absently, \u201cI was going to be picked up at the airport by a friend, but she couldn\u2019t at the last minute, so I took a taxi here instead. I\u2019ll go outside and call his cell.\u201d She gives me a tiny smile and admits, \u201cHe doesn\u2019t know I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod like an idiot again, waving, and when she turns and leaves the store, I get that weird, bewildering sense of being yanked up by my roots. Like something big just happened but I have no idea what it is.<\/p>\n

Chapter TWO<\/strong><\/p>\n

Perry<\/em><\/p>\n

The bronze bell over the door rings as I step out into the sunshine.<\/p>\n

Standing in the shade of Oliver\u2019s store, I find my phone and search for his number. Not much has gone according to plan since I stepped off the plane a little over two hours ago. I\u2019d landed to a handful of frantic texts from Mia, all of them explaining her emergency and apologizing repeatedly for not being there to pick me up. I assured her it was fine and that I\u2019d just take a cab to the address I had for Oliver\u2019s store, but it never occurred to me that he wouldn\u2019t be there . . . and that someone else would.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t resist another look back over my shoulder.<\/p>\n

He\u2019s still there, the one with the wild blond hair and the perfect teeth, watching. His eyes widen when they meet mine again and he lifts an arm in a wave, offering me another grin.<\/p>\n

I have always been a fool for a man with a great smile, a sucker for lips and straight teeth and dimples, but there\u2019s something else about this one; he seems so happy he makes it nearly impossible not to smile back. Whether it\u2019s because he loves his job or Oliver, or maybe because he simply likes Tuesdays, who knows? He seems hopelessly, honestly tickled to just be there. To just be<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Someone apologizes as he steps around me, and I realize I\u2019m blocking the sidewalk and staring at a stranger through the window. It is definitely time to go.<\/p>\n

With my head down, I open a text window and start typing a message as I turn and walk from the store:<\/p>\n

Hello stranger.<\/strong><\/p>\n

It takes about a minute for a bubble to appear, indicating that Oliver is typing.<\/p>\n

Bloody hell. How are you?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I reply quickly, my hands practically flying over the screen with adrenaline.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m here! In San Diego!<\/strong><\/p>\n

Oliver doesn\u2019t even bother replying and my phone rings only a few moments later.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re here<\/em>?\u201d he asks, breathless.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me you were coming, Perry-Girl?\u201d he asks. \u201cHow long have you been here?\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh into my phone, Oliver\u2019s Aussie accent as familiar as ever. \u201cGot in a few hours ago and headed straight to your shop. It\u2019s brilliant, Oliver. I\u2019m very proud!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201d he starts, and then pauses. \u201cRight, I need to hug you and thank you for saying that, but in person. Are you still there? At the shop?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m down the street a bit. I\u2019ve already been at the hotel and thought I might get a coffee.\u201d I groan, feeling the effects of a twelve-hour flight start to weigh in my thoughts, and all along my limbs. \u201cIf I sleep now I\u2019ll be awake all night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSmart,\u201d he says with an understanding laugh. \u201cWhat street are you on?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stop and look around me, at the signs on the corner. \u201cAh . . . the corner of Fifth and E.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, head down to Sixth, between F and G\u2014there\u2019s a little place called Coffee & Art. I\u2019ll meet you there in about twenty minutes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerfect. Can\u2019t wait to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t wait to see you, either, love.\u201d<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

From the outside, the cafe\u0301 isn\u2019t remarkable. It\u2019s built into the first floor of what I assume to be apartments, with concrete and brushed aluminum at the entrance. But inside, it\u2019s small and chaotic, stuffed with eclectic art: photography, statues of lizards, even cabinets filled with odd curios. I order an espresso, check my phone to see if I have any emails I need to answer, and wait.<\/p>\n

The door opens about ten minutes later and my heart almost drops in my chest.<\/p>\n

He looks so happy<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Oliver smiles and winds his way toward me through the scuffed-up wooden tables and metal chairs and lifts me off my feet with the strength of his hug. I\u2019ve missed him so much . . . but I didn\u2019t realize exactly how much until this very moment.<\/p>\n

He\u2019s solid, and warm, and feels like home. Pressing my face into his shoulder, I remember how he smells like clean earth and fresh laundry.<\/p>\n

I brush at my eyes when he sets me down, but he doesn\u2019t glance away. Instead, he takes my face in his hands and gazes at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at you.\u201d He kisses me once on the forehead and pulls out my chair for me to sit again. \u201cNow, tell me\u2014\u201d he starts to say, but I grab his hands, interrupting him with a flurry of words.<\/p>\n

\u201cOliver, the store is\u2014I can\u2019t believe<\/em> it. It was very busy and looks exactly the way you always described. I\u2019m so proud. And look at you . . . you just look . . .\u201d I squeeze his hands in mine, thinking back on all the stories he would share at the end of a long ride, all the \u201cOne of these days . . .\u201d he would describe as we gazed up at the stars. \u201cYou look so happy.\u201d This store has always been his dream, and my heart is nearly bursting for him.<\/p>\n

Oliver looks down to where our hands are joined and shakes his head, the tops of his cheeks turning pink. \u201cIt still doesn\u2019t feel real sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can imagine,\u201d I say with a laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s insane. Like, I think we can\u2019t get any busier and I go in the next day and we are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what about this girl you\u2019ve been seeing? Lola? Everything is still good?\u201d<\/p>\n

If I thought Oliver was smiling before, I was wrong. That expression had nothing on the way his face lights up when he hears her name. \u201cIt\u2019s fucking brilliant. She\u2019s the best thing that\u2019s ever happened to me, full stop. Wait until you meet her, I\u2014wait,\u201d he says, shaking his head. He leans in, giving me a playfully scolding look, like I\u2019m misbehaving. \u201cI\u2019m getting all distracted. What\u2019s going on? How did you get here and why didn\u2019t you let any of us know? I mean . . . Does Ansel\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. It was Mia,\u201d I say, and watch the shock spread across his face. \u201cMia organized this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Letting go of my hands, Oliver leans back in his chair, mouth slack. \u201cMia<\/em>? Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod. \u201cShe and I have been speaking. She sent me her phone number over email, telling me that Ansel had been . . .\u201d I search for the right word in English. \u201cHad been guilty<\/em>? Or regretting how things happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, he mentioned it,\u201d Oliver says quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I have, as well. So when Mia reached out to me, it felt like I was given another chance. I\u2019ve apologized to her, but ah<\/em> . . . I need to do it in person. The shame I feel at how I acted doesn\u2019t actually fit into sentences.\u201d<\/p>\n

This time it\u2019s Oliver who takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. \u201cNone of us really blamed you\u2014you know that, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe know it could have been handled better on your end, too, but Ansel has always been . . .\u201d He offers me a sad smile and I nod in understanding. Ansel has always been impulsive, and passionate.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s one of the things I loved about him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d I tell him. \u201cAnd I know that he is truly happy with Mia. But I am glad that it weighs on him; it means we both want to fix this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think we all made mistakes,\u201d Oliver says, blinking up at me. \u201cI know Finn and I probably should have handled things differently, and I\u2019m sorry for that, Perry-Girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to be sorry. I don\u2019t think I realized how difficult it was for everyone until it was over.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you and Ansel talked since he left France?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shake my head. \u201cTalked? No. Yelled? Screamed<\/em>? Yes. Once.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThings between you two were always sort of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOui<\/em>,\u201d I say. I run a hand through my hair, smoothing the strands before brushing them over my shoulder. I don\u2019t need him to finish that sentence. Things between Ansel and me were always rocky. \u201cMia seems wonderful, though. Good for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe is,\u201d Oliver says, and I can see that there is genuine affection there, not just courtesy. \u201cHe\u2019s good for her, too.\u201d I wonder if that\u2019s a subtle warning, but before I can think too much on it, he continues, \u201cSo this was all her idea? Getting you out here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was. She was planning on picking me up at the airport, but there was some sort of emergency at her studio.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you haven\u2019t seen anyone yet? Not even Finn?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Your store was the first place I went. I could not wait to see it. And you<\/em>,\u201d I add with a grin.<\/p>\n

Oliver pulls out his phone and starts texting. \u201cWe were all planning to get together tonight . . . and right . . . Mia set this all up.\u201d He looks up from his phone, eyes gentle as he searches my face. \u201cStill want to come tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely,\u201d I say. Though I definitely don\u2019t feel as confident as I sound. Meeting Mia\u2019s friends? Seeing Ansel just . . . like this? So soon? I had the entire trip from France to prepare, and I still don\u2019t feel ready.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnsel will be there. You all right with that?\u201d he asks, peeking up from beneath his shaggy hair to meet my eyes.<\/p>\n

I draw in a deep breath. I try to remember that boy\u2019s face, his presence<\/em> and the effect it always had on me, and I beg beg beg<\/em> my mind to truly be over him . . . not just over the idea<\/em> of him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think so,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou nervous?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have thought about seeing them both again at least a thousand times over the last year. I am not sure nervous<\/em> is the best word for what I feel right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver leans forward, lifting my hands and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. \u201cYou\u2019ll be great. I know Ansel needs this just as much as you do. He likes to pretend like he\u2019s shitting rainbows, but we all know there\u2019s more going on inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a lovely analogy, Oliver. Thank God you haven\u2019t changed.\u201d I pause, glancing out the window. I want to see Ansel, I do, if only to clear the air a little. But the idea of having him there unfiltered feels overwhelming. I want\u2014no, I need<\/em> this night to be more than just mending bridges. I want it to be at least a little bit fun. \u201cIs everyone coming?\u201d<\/p>\n

He tilts his head. \u201cYou mean . . . ?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFinn and his wife,\u201d I hedge, then add, \u201cLola . . . and the cute guy from your store?\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver\u2019s eyebrows slowly rise. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, surely you\u2019re not talking about the neo-hippie with the mohawk?\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh. \u201cHe seemed sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver shakes his head at me, chuckling. \u201cBut in reality, he\u2019s insane<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I offer him a little one-shouldered shrug. \u201cMaybe I\u2019m a little insane, too. I\u2019m here, aren\u2019t I? Come on, let me have a moment where I think a boy is cute and it\u2019s just nice.\u201d<\/p>\n

He studies me for a breath, and then nods slowly. \u201cAlright, Perry-Girl. Yeah, Not-Joe always comes with us to Fred\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Nacho\u2019<\/em>?\u201d I repeat, confused.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d Oliver says cryptically, nodding as he laughs. \u201cAnyway, we\u2019ll be there.\u201d Oliver takes another look at his phone before standing and offering me his hand. \u201cFinn\u2019s about to lose his mind knowing you\u2019re here, so let\u2019s do this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapter THREE<\/strong><\/p>\n

Not-Joe<\/em><\/p>\n

I never miss a night out at Fred\u2019s.<\/p>\n

It isn\u2019t that they serve better drinks than other bars, or have better peanuts, or the bar feels singularly amazing in any way. It\u2019s that I like the idea of having a place<\/em>. A place where, when we\u2019re closing up shop and we say, \u201cBeers later?\u201d everyone knows what it means. A place where, when you walk in, someone waves and starts making your drink. I blame my mom and her love of Cheers<\/em> throughout my childhood. I suppose the irony there is that hardly anyone at Fred\u2019s\u2014other than Luke and London\u2014knows my real name.<\/p>\n

I lock up the store, double-checking the back, the front window alarms, and the deadbolt once I\u2019m out on the sidewalk. I haven\u2019t smoked up in two weeks, but I still feel a paranoid buzz whenever I\u2019m the last to leave at the end of the day because I know how much it matters to Oliver that everything is sealed up tight.<\/p>\n

And if I really think about it, I would be pretty fucking heartbroken if something happened to the store. Despite my parents\u2019 wishes that I grow up and get a job at Dad\u2019s financial services company, I like<\/em> working at the comic shop. I manage most of my parents\u2019 investments because it\u2019s a total trip\u2014it\u2019s never been intimidating. I\u2019d played around in finance for shits and giggles since before I really understood the enormity of the responsibility Dad gave me in hopes that I would join him in the robot-world of accounting\u2014but I don\u2019t want to work in a cubicle or even an office for a job<\/em>. I like talking to people all day, getting to read and enjoy art, watching the thriving downtown through the front windows.<\/p>\n

This group of friends is a crazy mix of people, too. Oliver is smart as hell. He comes from a wildly broken background and basically raised himself, but you would never hear him complain about a thing or feel sorry for himself. Lola is an artist so gifted, and so humble, I think she might actually be an angel, and I don\u2019t even believe in heaven. Ansel is a law professor<\/em>. Full stop. I mean, you think he\u2019s this goofy hot dude snacking on grapes in the corner and making jokes about getting Mia pregnant by blowing her a kiss, and then he starts talking about his work and it\u2019s like he cyborg-shifts into Academic Superhero. The commitment it takes to get from A to Z in that career makes me trip a little. Mia is a dance prodigy teaching spastic little kids how to dance, and has the patience of . . . well, something with a lot of patience. I have no fucking idea where she gets it, but her fuse could stretch to the sun and back. Finn is this enormous, muscled dude who made me realize that, were I gay, I would definitely have a type. He can fix fucking anything, too. You name it: air conditioner, engine, stuck window, broken zipper on my jeans.<\/p>\n

I may have done that last one just to fuck with him a little.<\/p>\n

His wife, Harlow, looks at people and just figures them out. She\u2019s like those people who can do a Rubik\u2019s cube in ten seconds, but with human brains.<\/p>\n

And London and Luke, the newest couple in the group, are really interesting people when they\u2019re not attached to each other\u2019s faces. She\u2019s fit and scrappy, always down to surf, and just genuinely chill. He\u2019s smart as fuck and has a heart the size of China. I\u2019ve known Luke for years now, and I have to admit it\u2019s pretty great to see him so happy. I\u2019ve honestly never seen him like this.<\/p>\n

And then there\u2019s Betty\u2014my beat-up old Saab. She\u2019s not a speaking<\/em> member of the group, but as my ride I\u2019d say she\u2019s up there in importance. She was my dad\u2019s, back in the nineties, and he still thinks she\u2019s the nicest car he\u2019s ever owned. He drives a Tesla now, so I think he\u2019s a bit of a dumbass to miss the Saab no matter how great she is, but then again, I\u2019ve been told I\u2019m an idiot for thinking Red Stripe tastes better out of the bottle than poured into a glass, so I\u2019m not going to point any fingers.<\/p>\n

And it\u2019s true Betty is fun as hell to drive, but mainly because I\u2019m never quite sure she\u2019s going to get me to my destination intact. Always a mystery. She rattles, and stalls, and revs into the red for no reason. I could take her in to get fixed, but I suspect it would be a bit like taking a dying dog to the vet, and I\u2019m just not ready to hear that kind of truth or<\/em> to let go of her yet.<\/p>\n

I pull into the gravel lot in front of Fred\u2019s, and give the air outside a good thirty seconds to clear before I step out of the car so I don\u2019t get choked by a cloud of black exhaust.<\/p>\n

Fred waves to me from the bar when I get inside, and I toss him the latest TOON Book for his grandkid before heading toward the back. We have a booth we always claim . . . because Harlow.<\/p>\n

Because Harlow<\/em> is a reason we can give for about a hundred different things.<\/p>\n

We have a reserved booth at a dive bar . . . because Harlow.<\/em><\/p>\n

We don\u2019t talk about spiders or any type of insect . . . because Harlow.<\/em><\/p>\n

We all dutifully take our celebratory shots when they\u2019re brought to us . . . because Harlow.<\/em><\/p>\n

It\u2019s only once I sit down that I remember the redhead in the store, the one with the eyes and the body. We get any number of hot women coming into the shop, but there was something about her, somewhere behind her eyes that seems to stick in my head.<\/p>\n

And she\u2019s a friend of Oliver\u2019s, which conveniently moves her out of the potentially batshit category.<\/p>\n

Fred brings me an amaretto sour and I sip on it, absently people-watching, but it\u2019s still pretty quiet. My phone buzzes near my elbow with texts from Andrew and Daniel in the group box. They\u2019re probably sending links to weird-ass shit or making plans for tonight, but the last thing I\u2019m up for is their usual routine.<\/p>\n

Especially when I see Oliver\u2019s tall form duck into the bar, followed closely by Lola and . . . her<\/em>. They come over, wearing broad smiles, and I realize as they get closer that they\u2019re smiling so big because I\u2019m<\/em> smiling so big.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou look like a lunatic,\u201d Oliver says, sliding into the booth at my left.<\/p>\n

\u201cYup,\u201d I say, scooting over to make room for the lovely French lass on my right.<\/p>\n

Lola lets her in first and then follows, eyeing me oddly.<\/p>\n

I hear Harlow\u2019s laugh carrying over from near the bar, with Finn close behind her, and pretty soon we are all filling up the giant, round booth.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a fascinating study of personalities. Oliver looks nervous. Lola looks oblivious as she doodles on a napkin. The redheaded bank robber smiles shyly. Harlow schools her scowl, reaching forward to shake her hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, it\u2019s nice to meet you,\u201d she says, and I know her well enough to know she\u2019s bottling some shit up right now. \u201cI\u2019m Harlow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerry,\u201d the woman says quietly, ducking her head a little, almost as if she\u2019s nervous.<\/p>\n

And at the sound of her name, I rack my brain, searching through the fog for the memory of where I\u2019ve heard it before.<\/p>\n

Oh.<\/p>\n

Oh.<\/p>\n

Right.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d I say aloud, nodding. \u201cHey, you\u2019re Ansel\u2019s ex-girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone turns to look at me, as though, by speaking the truth, I\u2019ve just cracked the seal and let out something violent.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I ask, looking around. \u201cIsn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Lola says, eyes wide in her shut-the-fuck-up<\/em> face.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d I say, leaning in to whisper, \u201cwas it a secret?\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry laughs, shaking her head. \u201cNo. Mia brought me here so I could meet you all.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reach forward, shaking her hand. \u201cWe weren\u2019t properly introduced earlier. I\u2019m Dylan.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence rings out and everyone stares at me, mouths agape.<\/p>\n

What did I say this time?<\/p>\n

Oh, right.<\/em><\/p>\n

Harlow lets out a flat, \u201cWhat<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then, Oliver smacks the table loudly, shouting,<\/p>\n

\u201cNO!\u201d though it\u2019s really a laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cDude,\u201d I say, bewildered, \u201cmy name is on my fucking paychecks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t send those out,\u201d Oliver reminds me with a grin. \u201cMy accountant does. I\u2019d forgotten. Joe is just such a perfect name for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m not Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d Oliver says.<\/p>\n

Lola studies me, her eyes making the round circuit of my face, my hair, my clothes. \u201cDylan?\u201d she says. \u201cYeah, all right. But Not-Joe is better.\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not like I fucking care what they call me, but I know how much they enjoyed the mystery, and I\u2019m a little sad on their behalf. It\u2019s like I\u2019ve revealed how a magic trick was done or something, and nobody feels good about it.<\/p>\n

But quickly I shake that off and turn back to Perry. \u201cHow long are you here?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shrugs, and looks up with a smile when Fred delivers a tray of drinks to the table. Perry ordered red wine . . . she will no doubt be disappointed with the merlot here.<\/p>\n

And indeed, she winces a little when she takes a sip, but then I watch in fascination as she gives a little shrug like eh, fuck it<\/em>, and goes back for some more.<\/p>\n

So she has good taste, but isn\u2019t a dick about it. Nice.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think a week or two?\u201d she says after she\u2019s swallowed her second taste. \u201cI\u2019m in between jobs and wanted to travel a bit, so the timing of this was very good. I have not been here since our last bike trip together.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait,\u201d I say, pulling back a little to look at her. It\u2019s like I\u2019m only now noticing the definition of muscle on her bare arms, the spirit of adventurousness I sense when she smiles. \u201cYou did the bike trip with Oliver?\u201d<\/p>\n

She nods, grinning wider now. \u201cThat is how we all met. I was friends with these boys before Ansel and I were ever romantic.\u201d<\/p>\n

And the second time it comes up, no one seems to startle. It\u2019s now only half as heavy, half as weird.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t know them before all that?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

Perry shakes her head and her hair slides forward, over her shoulder. It makes me think of water sliding over a rock, which makes me think of swimsuits, which makes me think of skin. I am totally down with this line of thinking but remind myself to focus on the conversation at hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe met on the ride,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

This rattles me a little. I mean, she\u2019s probably in her late twenties, and the trip I think she\u2019s talking about was years ago. So this tells me she is brave, too, to have come here alone\u2014to another country<\/em>\u2014and do something so completely unknown.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did you grow up?\u201d I ask her.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, Joe<\/em>, quit hogging her,\u201d Oliver says, tossing a balled-up napkin at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s okay,\u201d Perry assures him, and looks back to me. \u201cOrle\u0301ans,\u201d she says. \u201cBut I went to secondary school just outside Zurich.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heart trips as I ask, \u201cWhich school?\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry does this cute little full-face blink, like she can\u2019t believe I\u2019m asking this. \u201cInstitut Montana.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a laugh, I tell her, \u201cI went to Aiglon.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stares at me. \u201cYou also went to boarding school in Switzerland?\u201d<\/p>\n

London and Luke appear right when Perry says this, and London pauses as she\u2019s sliding into the booth beside Harlow. \u201cWait. Dylan went to boarding school in Switzerland<\/em>?\u201d And then she slaps a hand over her mouth, staring wide-eyed at Lola and mumbling, \u201cShit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone turns to look at London.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d I tell her. \u201cThe great name mystery has already been revealed\u2014and I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren\u2019t for you meddling kids.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou<\/em> knew his name?\u201d Harlow asks London, eyes wide.<\/p>\n

\u201cLuke and Dylan played water polo together after the great breakup of twenty-ten,\u201d London explains with a little wince. \u201cFor what it\u2019s worth, I felt a little sad, too, when the name mystery was solved.\u201d<\/p>\n

Luke pushes into the booth after London, and smiles at Perry as he shakes her hand, introducing himself. I watch her carefully, because most women have a near-audible reaction to meeting Luke\u2014though from dating Ansel maybe she\u2019s built up an immunity?\u2014but she just smiles politely and then looks back to me, asking, \u201cSo why do you not speak French?\u201d<\/p>\n

I can see Luke watching me, like he\u2019s reading my mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cI . . . um,\u201d I start, and then blink back to Luke\u2019s unnerving Jedi focus.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Dyl,\u201d he says, giving me this huge I can see you losing your mind right now<\/em> grin.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Sutter,\u201d I say, grinning right back at him.<\/p>\n

I mean, clearly he wants to watch this conversation, so I shrug, turning back to Perry. \u201cMy mom is German, my dad is Swiss-German. I speak both traditional German and Zurich Swiss-German, I just . . . never took French.\u201d<\/p>\n

But it isn\u2019t just Luke. The entire table listens, entranced.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat in the actual hell is<\/em> your story?\u201d Finn asks, in his deep growl.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was born in Switzerland but we moved here when I was about six. After that, I grew up just down the road in La Jolla, but wanted to move back for school when I was fourteen.\u201d I poke at the ice in my drink with the thin cocktail straw. \u201cMy grandparents all live in Zurich, but I moved back here to go to college at UCSD.\u201d I shrug. \u201cI\u2019ll probably move back there eventually.\u201d<\/p>\n

Beside me, I can see Oliver\u2019s head jerk back in surprise.<\/p>\n

Perry leans in a little, asking, \u201cWas it hard to come back here?\u201d<\/p>\n

And when she says it like that, all quiet and personal, it feels like we are the only two people in this bar. As cheesy as it sounds, I stop noticing anyone but her. Not my buzzing phone on the table, not whatever our friends are doing next to us.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes and no,\u201d I say, and it seems to be enough, but I add anyway, \u201cI\u2019ll be happy wherever I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiles, nodding like she gets it.<\/p>\n

Like she gets me.<\/p>\n

Chapter FOUR<\/strong><\/p>\n

Perry<\/em><\/p>\n

I have an excellent poker face. The woman sitting opposite me does not. I suppose I can\u2019t really blame her; if I were Harlow and someone said the things to my best friend that I said to Mia, I\u2019d be looking at them like I wanted to light them on fire, too.<\/p>\n

Most likely, at some point everyone at this table has thought of me as a hateful monster. And even though I probably deserve every dagger Harlow\u2019s eyes are currently throwing my way, it takes a Herculean restraint on my part not to call her on it.<\/p>\n

Instead, I stay quiet, my hands clasped together and sweating in my lap. Dylan sits quietly beside me, folding little frogs out of cocktail napkins, and even though I want to ask him more about his life in Switzerland, I was starting to feel like we were being rude. But I wish I could go back to that, because feeling the intensity of Harlow\u2019s disapproval is incredibly uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

Oliver is in the middle of a story about the time we biked through Arizona, peddling like mad through the rain and hoping we\u2019d find shelter before one of us was struck by lightning, and I notice right when Lola reaches the end of her patience with Harlow and her eye-daggers and not-so-subtly kicks her under the table.<\/p>\n

Harlow winces and turns her attention to where Lola has stopped drawing on a napkin, and is glaring at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes<\/em>, Miss Castle?\u201d Harlow says.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t the two of us go get something to drink?\u201d Lola suggests, and if I hadn\u2019t already fallen in love with her on the drive here, I would now. She was lovely, if not a little quiet when Oliver introduced us outside her apartment, but it was easy to see that it had more to do with her own introverted tendencies than anything about me.<\/p>\n

Dylan jumps in before anyone can respond. \u201cBut Harlow has a drink,\u201d he points out, and I can already tell that that\u2019s just what he does, saying whatever thought happens to pop into his head completely without filtering it.<\/p>\n

It seems so bare, so real<\/em>, like he has nothing he needs to hide, and it eases something in me every time he does it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, she\u2019ll need another<\/em> one,\u201d Lola says, squeezing out of the booth and standing, waiting for Harlow to join her. Harlow gestures for Luke and London to get up so she can leave, then follows Lola out with a huff. I exhale for what feels like the first time since we all sat down.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m also going to have a chat with her,\u201d Oliver says quietly to me. \u201cYou good here?\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t even give myself a chance to think about it because no<\/em>, knowing that Harlow wants to punch me, and anticipating Ansel and Mia\u2019s arrival any second, I am absolutely not good. To be honest, I\u2019m not really even sure why I thought this was a smart idea in the first place.<\/p>\n

Getting on a plane and flying across the ocean to reconcile with my ex and his new wife? I must have been drunk.<\/p>\n

But I don\u2019t say that, and instead put on my widest smile and nod. \u201cAbsolutely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a terrible liar, but I\u2019m going to let this one slide,\u201d Oliver says, and stretches behind Dylan to whisper in my ear. \u201cIt\u2019ll be okay, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod again and lean into him for a moment before he straightens and heads to where Lola is currently reading Harlow the riot act on the other side of the bar.<\/p>\n

\u201cHarlow is a hard-ass,\u201d Dylan says, in a quiet, gentle voice that actually takes me by surprise.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can see that.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stirs his drink and sits back against the booth, watching Oliver as he joins the two women. \u201cShe loves loudly,\u201d he adds. \u201cLike really<\/em> loud. Sometimes it\u2019s just hard to make her shut up.\u201d If this were any other moment, in any other situation, I would probably laugh and kiss him for trying to make me feel better.<\/p>\n

\u201cAn admirable quality in a friend,\u201d I say. \u201cAnd Mia is her best friend. I get it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d he says, draining the last of his drink and crunching a piece of ice between his teeth. \u201cDid you know cows have best friends?\u201d<\/p>\n

I pause with my own glass pressed to my lips. \u201cI\u2019m sorry . . . what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCows,\u201d he repeats, as if that<\/em> was where he lost me. \u201cI watched a documentary where scientists measured heart rate and serotonin levels to determine when female cows were calm or stressed, and some of them showed lower levels of stress when paired with certain animals within the herd. It makes sense when you think about it: chill cows would definitely produce the largest amount of, or most superior, milk.\u201d<\/p>\n

I set my drink down on the napkin in front of me. \u201cWow, that\u2019s actually . . . really interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks thoughtful for a moment before adding, \u201cThey can\u2019t go down stairs, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStairs? Is that something they were studying in the documentary, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, frat party rush week.\u201d When he says this, he gives me a boyish smile that makes something in my stomach tighten in a rush. \u201cBut that\u2019s a different story.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m about to say something when the door to the little bar opens and a familiar shape cuts across the light. I haven\u2019t seen Ansel in nearly ten months, but it feels like it was only yesterday, the last time we fought and he stormed out of my flat. He looks just like I remember: tall, thin but strong, sharp jaw. Gorgeous.<\/p>\n

My heart pounds in my chest and every conversation I\u2019ve had with myself, every version of this moment I\u2019d imagined over the months, seems to shuffle through my thoughts all at once.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s clear Mia has given Ansel ample warning, because he seems to have a tight grip on her hand as she trails behind him. He stops just inside the door and blinks into the dim light, his gaze anxiously searching the room for . . . well, for me, I suppose.<\/p>\n

I watch, heart in my throat, as he looks through the crowd, and even if I weren\u2019t watching his every move I\u2019d sense the change in his entire body when his eyes meet mine. His breath catches and he takes a step back, like he wasn\u2019t ready for the reality of seeing me, either.<\/p>\n

Where it rests in my lap, my hand is gently covered by another bigger, warmer one. I glance down to see that Dylan has reached over, and is giving my fingers an encouraging squeeze. I blink up and he is nothing but a wide, easy smile and bright eyes. I actually wish this were another moment, in a reality where I wasn\u2019t the crazy ex-girlfriend, because I think I could really like Dylan. There\u2019s something . . . light<\/em> about him that puts me at ease, makes me<\/em> feel light, too.<\/p>\n

I know that I could wait for Ansel and Mia to come to me, but I feel somewhat trapped in this booth, and so I turn to Dylan with a smile of my own. \u201cJust going to . . .\u201d I start to say, but he all but pushes me from my seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo, go. A fic I\u2019ve been reading just updated, so I\u2019ve got plenty to do,\u201d he says, and begins reading something on his phone.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m vaguely aware of the eyes on me when I cross the room and stop in front of Ansel and Mia near the bar.<\/p>\n

\u201cPerry,\u201d Ansel says. \u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just going to give you two a few minutes,\u201d Mia says, but I stop her.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo . . . please, I want to apologize.\u201d<\/p>\n

She waves me off and insists that it isn\u2019t necessary, but I continue. \u201cNo, I know we\u2019ve spoken on the phone, but it\u2019s not enough. I was still reeling from what happened and when I saw you . . .\u201d I say with a small laugh, \u201cI think I lost my mind a little. I felt terrible afterward, once the heat of my anger cooled and I had a chance to really think about things. I am so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mia closes her eyes for a moment and then takes a step forward, enveloping me in a hug. When I put my arms around her in return, she feels positively tiny and it makes me feel even worse. She seems so small, like I could have broken her with the strength of my anger.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s nothing to forgive anymore.\u201d She pulls back and smiles at me. \u201cI mean that. I\u2019m sure most of us\u2014myself included\u2014would probably have reacted the same way.\u201d She looks up at Ansel, wincing slightly.<\/p>\n

I know this must be hard for her, and saying my behavior was in any way justified puts a large measure of blame on Ansel. Her husband<\/em>. She is of course right, but it in no way excuses the things I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou two talk,\u201d Mia says quietly, \u201cand I\u2019ll just be over here if you need me. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ansel nods and reluctantly lets go of her hand, before turning back to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI . . .\u201d he starts in French, stopping to push his fingers through his hair. The gesture is so familiar it makes a tiny spot in my chest ache. \u201cI had all these things I thought I would say to you if ever given the chance and now . . . my mind is completely blank.\u201d<\/p>\n

I know exactly how he feels. \u201cWhy don\u2019t we sit down?\u201d I motion to a small empty booth in the corner.<\/p>\n

Ansel nods for me to lead the way, and I can hear his steps just behind me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t believe we\u2019re actually having this conversation,\u201d I say once we\u2019ve taken a seat across from each other. \u201cI never thought . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. It\u2019s a bit surreal, if I\u2019m being honest. Seeing you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was all Mia,\u201d I say, running my thumb over a scratch in the glossy tabletop. \u201cShe wants you to be happy and knew this had been bothering you. She planned the whole thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe just told me,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s wonderful, Ansel.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe is,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m very lucky she forgave me for all the things I kept from her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ansel shakes his head, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. \u201cLike you, yes. I . . . what I did was so unfair, to both of you. I can only imagine what it must have been like, for things to have just ended the way they did and then to hear that I married, and that she was living in the apartment we shared. How shocked you must have been. Then to see her at Christophe and Marie\u2019s party. I should have been honest with both of you . . . I owed you that, Perry. After all we\u2019d been through, I should have done better for you. I have thought about that so much these past few months.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I say. \u201cI think a part of me needed to hear you acknowledge that.\u201d I spin a coaster on the table in front of me. \u201cAnd you\u2019re right, it did hurt and it was hard, and yes, you should<\/em> have told her about me, Ansel. And you should have told me about her<\/em>, before I heard it from someone else. I\u2019m not going to pretend that what happened didn\u2019t hurt, but . . . you fell out of love with me, and even though that was hard, it wasn\u2019t your fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

I take a moment to breathe, letting the sounds of the bar circle around us while I think of what else I want to say.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt took me a while to realize that while we did love each other at one point, it got hard to tell the difference between what we were and what I wanted<\/em> us to be. I can see that now. And I can see how asking you to stay with me was selfish. I do want you to be happy. I want both<\/em> of us to be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI would like that,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

He reaches across and takes my hands between his, and to my enormous relief, it feels just like it did when Oliver did the same thing earlier.<\/p>\n

It feels like the touch of a friend.<\/p>\n

Chapter FIVE<\/strong><\/p>\n

Not-Joe<\/em><\/p>\n

Perry is gone for a little while, so I listen to Lola and Harlow talking about how sad they are that London and Luke are moving. Everyone is bummed they\u2019ll be in Berkeley but, I mean, did Germany rebuild the Berlin Wall around the Bay Area or something? Are Luke and London going to cease to exist if they are seven hours away by car? I try to remind everyone that friends moving<\/em> just means a reason to travel, and long-distance adventures, but no one seems to want to hear it, so I watch one of the videos Daniel sent me.<\/p>\n

Eventually, they grow quiet, and I can feel them watching me, curious about the barking coming from my phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell is that, Joe?\u201d Oliver asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cBreak-dancing dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n

For once, they seem unable to resist this, and Oliver, Lola, Harlow, and Finn all crowd in to watch over my shoulder. The internet is a fascinating place, for sure.<\/p>\n

But when Perry starts back toward the table, I look up out of some weird instinct and our eyes meet. Most likely I just turned because I saw something moving in my periphery, but I like the buzzing feeling that I sense<\/em> her somehow. Less and less frequently these days I have this sort of immediate connection with people, like our souls hook before our brains catch on, and I\u2019d started to forget how good it feels.<\/p>\n

I can see her teeth when she smiles: they\u2019re white but they aren\u2019t perfect. Her canines are sharp, one of her incisors overlaps her front tooth just the tiniest bit, but the effect is to make her look sweeter. I nod to myself, liking this new theory: people with imperfect teeth just don\u2019t sweat the small stuff.<\/p>\n

And as she gets closer, I can tell she looks like she\u2019s been through some meditative revelation.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s still got that fire in her eyes\u2014the one that seems to flare to life every time she blinks\u2014but she somehow also looks serene. It\u2019s around her jaw, in her neck and shoulders.<\/p>\n

I push Oliver\u2019s shoulder and pat the bench beside me. He laughs, but I mean, fuck it. If she\u2019s only here for a few days, why not go all in and hope she wants to be around me, too?<\/p>\n

When Oliver and Lola stand to make room, Perry slides next to me, bumping my shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d she says, smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can see Harlow and Finn exchange curious glances beside us, but I don\u2019t bother to look over at them. Beyond just asking her how it went with Ansel, I\u2019m tempted to ask Perry all the things I usually want to know, like what\u2019s the scariest thing she\u2019s ever done, or what\u2019s the best day she\u2019s ever had, who\u2019s her favorite musician and what\u2019s the worst book she\u2019s ever made herself finish . . . but I feel an odd lack of novelty here. With a lot of women, I just want to hear stories. Have them tell me their crazy shit. Is it because I\u2019m bored? Who knows. But here, I feel I get the meaning behind the word enraptured<\/em> in a way I haven\u2019t before. I\u2019m not amused by her or curious about what sort of crazy she hides beneath her skin. I\u2019m drawn to her but don\u2019t feel hurried to unwrap it all immediately.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t give it all to me at once. Let me taste you, bit by bit.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cEverything all right over there?\u201d I ask her quietly, lifting my chin to where Ansel and Mia order a drink at the bar before turning and making their way over to the booth.<\/p>\n

She nods. \u201cEverything is very good, I think.\u201d Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, and the way she does it without any sort of self-conscious tightening or reflex makes me want to bend down and kiss her right under her jaw, where her heartbeat throbs lightly in her neck. Then she adds a quiet, honest, \u201cFinally.\u201d<\/p>\n

And it\u2019s her unique lack of defense that keeps tripping me again, and again. She\u2019s nothing like I expected after hearing the group talk about her now and then.<\/p>\n

I expected sharp and thorny. I expected her to be cold and unfeeling. But she isn\u2019t. She\u2019s straightforward but soft-spoken, con dent but calm.<\/p>\n

Man, circumstances make us weird. Ansel didn\u2019t love her, and it\u2019s cool, we don\u2019t all fit, but I feel like she\u2019s a prism I am holding up to the light in order to find her chipped side. I\u2019m sure she has one; I just wonder if she\u2019d have the same one with me.<\/p>\n

Oliver leans in, patting her hand once and then continuing to just smile at her. He doesn\u2019t say anything else, he just smiles and nods, and she nods back, and my heart fucking explodes.<\/p>\n

Oliver\u2019s eyes snag mine and he does a double take. \u201cWhat?\u201d He wipes his mouth as if he\u2019s worrying he has some beer foam there.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing, man, you just love people right,\u201d is all I can think to say.<\/p>\n

This earns a nod and a smile, and Lola reaches around him to muss my hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cCelebratory shots?\u201d Harlow asks, and everyone but me groans comically.<\/p>\n

\u201cHell yeah,\u201d I say. \u201cBut I\u2019m picking.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m seated in the direct middle of the round booth, so I forgo making them all get out of the booth and opt to jump over the back instead. Everyone is used to it but Perry, and she gasps in surprise, instinctively reaching out to steady me. Her hand is small, and cool, and strong around my forearm.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

Her eyes hold mine for one . . . two . . . three breaths, and then she lets go of me.<\/p>\n

But my heart is still stumbling over itself when I reach the bar and Fred comes over, knocking on the bar top with his knuckles. \u201cWhat\u2019ll it be, Joe?\u201d<\/p>\n

I glance over my shoulder, quickly counting the number of heads, and then turn back to him. \u201cTen shots of Patro\u0301n.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyebrows flick skyward in brief surprise. I\u2019m generally a purveyor of their subpar well drink options.<\/p>\n

\u201cPatro\u0301n, eh?\u201d he asks, turning and reaching for the bottle. \u201cWe\u2019re celebrating.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs usual,\u201d he answers through a laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cTonight is different,\u201d I tell him, glancing back over my shoulder again with a grin. Perry has said something that made Harlow throw her head back in laughter, and her delighted shriek rips across the bar. \u201cTonight they pulled the thorn out of their foot and saw it was a diamond.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapter SIX<\/strong><\/p>\n

Perry<\/em><\/p>\n

When I wake the next morning, it\u2019s hard to believe that yesterday happened at all. I flew to America. I saw my best friends. I finally talked to Ansel, and for the first time in what could possibly be our entire relationship, it feels like we\u2019re on the same page and I can move on. I\u2019m probably not going to be having dinner at their house and helping plan an anniversary party anytime soon, but we\u2019re okay. I\u2019m<\/em> okay.<\/p>\n

I push off the blankets and climb from the hotel bed. Feeling lighter than I have in months, I walk straight to the window and push open the curtains. The sky is bright and blue and I can see the ocean from my room. Boats bob in the harbor and the dock is dotted with people out for a run or walking their dog. Seagulls swoop across the horizon, and it\u2019s so beautiful here it\u2019s not hard to understand why Oliver chose this as the place to make his dream happen.<\/p>\n

My phone chirps by the bed and I cross the room to retrieve it. I have a few emails and a handful of texts I need to reply to, but nothing pressing I have to do today but see my boys. And God, after all this time and so many miles between us, it feels so good to say that again.<\/p>\n

I get a text from Finn as I\u2019m on my way down to the hotel lobby. I was actually surprised to find that Mr. Serious even knew how to text; the Finn I knew would have glared and told me to make a damn call if I needed something. Now he lives in California, has an agent, there are T-shirts with his face on them, and<\/em> he knows how to text? The list of things to tease him about just writes itself. He tells me he\u2019s just a few blocks away and to head into the restaurant and get us a table.<\/p>\n

The scent of coffee and bacon fills my nose as soon as I step through the doors, and my stomach growls. I catch the eye of the waiter just a moment later, tell him there will be two of us today, and follow him to our seats.<\/p>\n

Finn arrives only a few minutes later, and I feel some giddiness ignite in my chest at the idea of having him all to myself for a little while. I love these guys so much. He grins back and makes his way to our table, pulling his cap off his head and smoothing his hair back down, giving me the chance to really take a moment to look at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cMon dieu<\/em>, you are all biceps,\u201d I say when he reaches the table, and he rolls his eyes as he takes a seat on the bench opposite me.<\/p>\n

\u201cEasy, Frenchie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know it\u2019s been a while since we\u2019ve seen each other, but when did you turn into Popeye?\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughs, looking down at the menu. \u201cDoes anyone even know who Popeye is anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ignoring him, I ask, \u201cHave you always been this enormous? I don\u2019t remember.\u201d I reach across the table to wrap both hands around his biceps.<\/p>\n

Finn makes a show of looking at his watch. \u201cWhen is your flight home again?\u201d<\/p>\n

I drop back in my seat and bring my water glass to my lips. \u201cIt\u2019s not my fault you look like Captain America. No wonder they\u2019ve put you on television.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn turns his coffee cup over when the waitress stops at our table, and we wait while she fills it and takes his order.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve heard about the show, then,\u201d he says carefully. He takes a sip of his coffee\u2014black, just like he\u2019s always taken it\u2014and the liquid is so hot the steam curls up from the mug to disappear in front of him. There\u2019s something comforting about this moment right here, that even after all this time he still takes his coffee the same way and is so impatient to drink it he can\u2019t wait a few minutes for it to cool.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I heard about it. Everyone has. Oliver sent me a magazine clipping and I saw your photograph in a train station in Lille.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you say anything?\u201d he asks, tilting his head to look at me.<\/p>\n

I shrug. \u201cI\u2019m not sure. I know we had the occasional text just to check in, but I think I was still too embarrassed for more. Or maybe it was that it felt like after the breakup, Ansel got to keep you and Oliver, and I didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiles and folds his arms in front of him. But his smile isn\u2019t amused; it\u2019s gentle, as if he\u2019s telling me how much he loves me with that expression. There\u2019s a moment of silence where Finn\u2019s smile slowly turns into a frown, and the tan skin of his forehead furrows in concentration. \u201cYou know none of us blamed you, right? We thought you were a jackass and went off the deep end, but we also know you. And Ansel. We all have meltdowns.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know this now,\u201d I tell him. \u201cAnd things are better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d he says, taking another sip of his coffee.<\/p>\n

I love this about Finn: if you tell him you\u2019re fine, you\u2019re fine. He doesn\u2019t need to get in your head or analyze every one of your thoughts; he trusts you to tell him the truth.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m happy for him, for all of you,\u201d I add. \u201cSpeaking of, tell me about this wife of yours. She\u2019s . . .\u201d I search for the right word, \u201csomething else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn laughs, full and loud, the corners of his eyes crinkling mischievously. \u201cShe certainly is. And marriage is good\u2014 it\u2019s fucking great, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n

We take a few minutes to catch up, to talk about his father\u2019s health and all the trouble his brothers are getting into, and then breakfast arrives: fruit and oatmeal for me, eggs and everything else you can imagine for Finn. He doesn\u2019t waste any time before digging in.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re living here part-time, and Vancouver the rest?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

He nods and reaches for the ketchup. \u201cAt least until the show is done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugs. \u201cIt is. Sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is it all going? I have to admit, I never thought I\u2019d see Finn Roberts on TV.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou and me both. So far it\u2019s good. The pay is fucking incredible, and as big a pain in the ass as it is, it\u2019s nice getting to do the thing I love without worrying so much about money. I\u2019ll take it while it lasts.\u201d He takes a bite, chews, and washes it down with coffee before continuing. \u201cYou\u2019ve been to Oliver\u2019s store?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have. I do not know a thing about comics, but I think it is amazing. It looks exactly the way he used to describe it to us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t it? And it\u2019s never empty. Thank God Not-Joe is smarter than he looks and Olls can leave once in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean Dylan,\u201d I say, and he looks at me a little oddly, like he might not know who I\u2019m talking about. \u201cThe cute one who works in the store?\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn straightens and sets his fork on the edge of his plate. \u201cI knew who you meant.\u201d He stares at me a beat longer. \u201c\u2018Cute\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shrug and take another bite of oatmeal. \u201cWell, he is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s also not your type.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh at how his shoulders have gone tight, how he looks ready to battle. \u201cHow do you know? Maybe that\u2019s why things have never worked out for me\u2014maybe what we thought was my type is all wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn eyes me suspiciously. \u201cYou heading over there today?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stir my oatmeal, ignoring the intensity of his gaze. \u201cYeah, after breakfast. Oliver wasn\u2019t there when I stopped by the first time, and I know he wanted to show me around.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight. Well, I can walk you over if you don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh. He just can\u2019t help the protective big-brother reflex. \u201cAs if I would let you get away from me so quickly.\u201d I wipe my mouth and set my napkin on the plate in front of me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen are you leaving?\u201d he asks. \u201cMaybe we can all plan a ride before you go.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heart skips a beat. \u201cI would love that! And I don\u2019t know, really. My ticket is open-ended, but I need to put together my re\u0301sume\u0301 and organize my portfolio at some point. Probably next weekend? Can we plan something before then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDefinitely,\u201d he says, snagging the check before the waitress can set it on the table. \u201cNow let\u2019s get you over to that store so I can watch Oliver fall all over himself showing off for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

We go for a ride that weekend: high up into the hills, sweating our faces off. Oliver, Finn, Ansel, and me, back together again on the road, racing down the hills and yelling encouragements at each other on the climbs. It\u2019s better than before.<\/p>\n

We are better than before.<\/p>\n

We meet Mia, Harlow, Lola, and Dylan afterward at a tiny cafe\u0301 in Alpine, where we drink sharp beer and eat food that makes me want to sleep for days. Dylan brings us all bracelets he made while babysitting Fred\u2019s granddaughter, and I put mine on, wondering whether I\u2019m imagining how it appears to be the only one of the lot not made by a five-year-old girl.<\/p>\n

And still . . . I don\u2019t book a trip home afterward. An entire week flies by and I realize I haven\u2019t even looked at flight schedules yet. Each day, I make every excuse I can to visit Oliver\u2019s store.<\/p>\n

I need to take him to lunch.<\/p>\n

I need to bring him lunch.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m looking for Finn.<\/p>\n

I need to borrow a phone charger.<\/p>\n

I need to return a phone charger.<\/p>\n

I left my sunglasses on the counter maybe sort of by accident.<\/p>\n

Every time I walk through the door, the little bell chimes overhead and Dylan stops what he\u2019s doing, smiles like I\u2019m his long-lost best friend, and lets me spend the rest of his shift following him around the little store.<\/p>\n

We talk about books and clothes and architecture and cows.<\/p>\n

He\u2019ll look at me and smile and it\u2019s like I\u2019ve stepped out from a cold chill into the warm sun.<\/p>\n

It sounds insane, I know it does, but he\u2019s so easy in his own skin, he makes me feel easy in mine.<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

It\u2019s Tuesday.<\/p>\n

The second Tuesday I\u2019ve been here, and I arrived on a Thursday.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo are you working here now, or what?\u201d Oliver asks, dropping a stack of comics onto the counter in front of him.<\/p>\n

I look up from a copy of Tank Girl<\/em> Dylan left for me to read with instructions to note \u201cthe subtle nuances of her character\u201d so we may discuss them when he returns. I didn\u2019t even realize there were nuances in comics.<\/p>\n

Oliver waits for an answer, but let\u2019s be real, I don\u2019t have one. \u201cHonestly, I have no idea what I\u2019m doing, Olls.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiles, and I can tell he sees the internal What-the-hell-am-I-doing-next<\/em> question looming in my eyes, but he doesn\u2019t push. \u201cI\u2019m not complaining, mind you,\u201d he says. \u201cBetween you and Lola hanging around here all the time, business has never been better.\u201d<\/p>\n

I set my book on the counter and look around the busy store. \u201cI like being here. I like just . . . being around you all day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver laughs as he rounds the counter, picking up a stack of mail to go through. \u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s sweet, but I\u2019m supposed to believe you\u2019re here for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stare up at him, giving him an unconvincing, \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou spend all your time with that<\/em> one,\u201d he says, motioning to where Dylan is taking down a box from a larger stack of boxes. \u201cI came in here yesterday and you didn\u2019t even notice. I walked in and you two had your heads together, laughing about something you were watching on his phone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s fun.\u201d I look down, picking at a loose thread on my sweater. \u201cI\u2019ve never met anyone like him before. We can talk about the weirdest things and he manages to make it into the most fascinating conversation. He sees things differently.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver snorts. \u201cI\u2019ll say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean it.\u201d I pick up a letter from a stack of mail in front of him and hold it up. \u201cYou and I would look at this envelope and see that it\u2019s blue and that it is an envelope. Dylan would have some story about visiting a paper factory when he was small and how they used a special dye to make this exact color blue. How it\u2019s the same color blue as some dove that only lives in the Himalayas or something, and how just seeing that color or feeling the texture of the paper under his fingers takes him back there. To the paper factory, not the Himalayas,\u201d I clarify.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019d probably also tell you about the time he got a paper cut because he was trying to close an envelope with his dick,\u201d Oliver says. \u201cAnd after watching the pair of you over the last couple of weeks, I imagine you\u2019d probably laugh and ask him what color that envelope was.\u201d<\/p>\n

I drop the letter back into the pile and look out over the shop again. I\u2019m not sure what to say. I probably would, just to keep him talking.<\/p>\n

Oliver crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter. \u201cYou like<\/em> him.\u201d<\/p>\n

I think about this, watching the way the muscles of Dylan\u2019s back stretch as he bends to pick up a box, how his shirt clings to the length of his torso. Physically, he\u2019s the opposite of every man I\u2019ve ever been drawn to: he\u2019s beautiful, but messy. But his heart is enormous, and his intellect seems even bigger.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe,\u201d I admit. \u201cWould that be so bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver takes a step toward me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. \u201cNot bad at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut maybe he doesn\u2019t think of me that way,\u201d I say, and chew on my bottom lip.<\/p>\n

Dylan chooses that moment to return to the front of the store, grinning at me as he bends to pick up a pile of broken down boxes and carry them to the back. He whistles, calling out, \u201cJust carrying some cardboard, don\u2019t mind me, pretty Perry . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

Oliver laughs at my side and shakes his head. \u201cLet\u2019s just say I don\u2019t think that\u2019s a problem. At all<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapter SEVEN<\/strong><\/p>\n

Not-Joe<\/em><\/p>\n

It\u2019s dead for a Friday, and I\u2019m shocked that there is no one I need to kick out of the store at closing time.<\/p>\n

I pull my keys from my pocket, jingling them a little.<\/p>\n

Only Perry sits at the front reading nook, with her nose buried in Nimona<\/em>.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a great read, but it\u2019s also an easy<\/em> read, and no way should she still be in the first third of the book, no matter how rusty her English reading skills might be.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s stalling.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d I say, sliding down next to her on the couch.<\/p>\n

She looks up, leaning her head against the back and looking at me with a calm, level gaze. \u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n

The last week and a half has been . . . intense.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s here a lot, talking to me most of the time. It\u2019s weird to have the sense that I have this new, mysterious best friend, and I\u2019m not totally sure why.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not complaining, mind you. I\u2019m totally fucking smitten. But I know she\u2019s going to head back to France soon, and no matter how much fun I know she could be, I\u2019m honestly a little afraid of how it would feel to get a tiny taste of her only to have her leave.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m closing up soon,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

She lifts her shoulder in a single shrug. \u201cI thought you might be.\u201d<\/p>\n

A pause, heavy and dense, settles between us.<\/p>\n

God. Just . . . fuck it.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWanna come over?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t even trip on the words, and my pulse doesn\u2019t even race. I want it. I want her. I want more time with her, and I want her alone with me at my place, eating dinner and watching something or doing everything or saying nothing.<\/p>\n

She nods, and closes the book with a satisfying snap, standing and walking over to slide it back on the shelf.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s wearing jeans, and heels, and a T-shirt that has a giant coral rose on it, but she looks like she\u2019s got nothing on at all. It\u2019s not like the out t is somehow obscene, because it\u2019s not. I just mean she wears it like skin. She wears everything<\/em> that way: easily.<\/p>\n

When she returns to me, I take her hand. I\u2019m reminded how soft and cool her skin is. And again, I have no idea why I did it, but it just feels right. She must feel it, too . . . or else she doesn\u2019t want to hurt my feelings.<\/p>\n

Instinct makes me want to check. \u201cThis okay?\u201d I ask, loosening my grip.<\/p>\n

But she tightens her fingers around mine and tugs me toward the door. \u201cCome on. I\u2019m hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Out on the sidewalk, she pulls up short while I lock the door with my free hand. I can feel her watching me. I can feel her attention on my face and it\u2019s interrupted only when the wind blows her hair across her eyes and she reaches up, tucking it behind her ear.<\/p>\n

Her hair is like copper. Slippery and fine. Metallic streaks run through it, and they illuminate in the summer evening sun.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re quiet today,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t have a banana for breakfast,\u201d I tell her. \u201cThe one I had at home was all brown and gross, and I swear I have a ton more to say when I have one first thing in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nods, as if this make sense, even though I know and she knows\u2014and the entire planet knows\u2014it\u2019s just me saying random shit because it\u2019s suddenly in my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cBananas are<\/em> a great source of potassium,\u201d she says, and I belt out a laugh because that is exactly the same kind of ridiculous nonsense I would say.<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly.\u201d<\/p>\n

It gets quiet again and she tilts her head. \u201cWhy am I so comfortable around you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I assume she really wants an answer; Perry hasn\u2019t been rhetorical with me very much.<\/p>\n

So I shrug. \u201cMaybe because you can tell I like you even though I don\u2019t know you that well? It seems to me it only gets better between us the more you hang around.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have a girlfriend?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t be holding your hand if I had a girlfriend.\u201d It\u2019s her turn to shrug. \u201cI don\u2019t know. You seem like a hand-holding person. I wanted to ask.\u201d<\/p>\n

Holy fuck, that makes a lot of sense. \u201cThen I\u2019m glad you did.\u201d<\/p>\n

We turn and she follows a step behind me to where I\u2019ve parked Betty around the corner.<\/p>\n

I unlock her door with my key, shaking a little, and Perry climbs in without comment. I like that she doesn\u2019t try to make it seem like it\u2019s great that I have a run-down piece-of-shit car. Some people pretend to think Betty is great, even though she\u2019s pretty ugly. She also smells like crumbling upholstery, and I imagine she\u2019s really only fun for me to ride in.<\/p>\n

The engine roars to life, and I shift into first, pulling away from the curb before speaking.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s this dude named Gerd Gigerenzer who does research on how we make decisions.\u201d I look over at her, adding, \u201cHis whole thing is how we should use instinct and simple heuristics more often.\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry meets my eyes and nods, listening. She doesn\u2019t give me the oh-here-we-go-again<\/em> smile I get all the time from my friends. I don\u2019t resent that smile; I understand it. But she can obviously tell I\u2019m going somewhere with this, and it\u2019s sort of cool to be with someone who seems to really want to hear it.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s not talking about using probability statistics to make better decisions. He\u2019s talking about intuition<\/em>. Like, using your gut, but assuming to some extent that your gut instincts are based on life experience.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiles with uncertainty. \u201cOkay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis whole thing is mostly about economics and investment,\u201d I admit, \u201cbut, I don\u2019t know, it just popped into my head right now, something he said once. He said, \u2018If you are in an uncertain world, make it simple. If you are in a world that is highly predictable, make it complex.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry shakes her head. \u201cI have no idea where you are going with this, but I\u2019m listening.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI usually don\u2019t know where I\u2019m going with a lot of things, but today you\u2019re in luck,\u201d I say with a wink.<\/p>\n

She snorts, and I continue as I pull out into traffic, \u201cHe basically means to use mathematical models when circumstances are predictable and intuitive models when the circumstances are complex.\u201d I look at her and she nods in understanding. \u201cIn most ways, my life is really predictable.\u201d I let out a little chuckle. \u201cMy days are the same, my people are the same. Every time I do something random and weird, and Oliver laughs at me, it increases the chance that the next time I do or say something random, he\u2019ll have the same reaction. Likewise, I surf the same beaches and do tricks I probably shouldn\u2019t try. But the more I do them and survive, the greater the chance that next time, I\u2019ll do something crazy and survive. For most of my decisions, probability works fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

We pause at a red light and I turn to look at her. \u201cI\u2019m in an uncertain world with you, but unfortunately I don\u2019t really have a lot of experience to base anything off. My instinct sucks.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watch her swallow, her eyes wide and fixed on the side of my face as she nods, serious now.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a lot going on: who you are to Ansel and Mia, why you\u2019re here, how long you\u2019re here. Whether you need distraction, or are just feeling like the seventh wheel. Whether you like me,\u201d I say. \u201cWho you have back home, whether you\u2019re excited to go<\/em> back home.\u201d I smile at her. \u201cStill with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

She nods. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo we should keep it simple.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her face twitches with a tiny flash of disappointment, and it makes my blood hum.<\/p>\n

\u201cInstinct<\/em>, I mean,\u201d I add quietly, turning back and accelerating when the light turns green. When she doesn\u2019t say anything to this, I tell her, \u201cI like you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can hear her smile when she admits, \u201cI like you, too.\u201d And that\u2019s all I fucking need. Simple.<\/p>\n

\u201cCool,\u201d I say, merging onto the freeway. \u201cDo you like Thai food?\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry laughs, shaking her head at me. \u201cAre you done with your economics decision analogy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, do<\/em> you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry\u2019s eyes narrow as she gives me a sneaky smile. \u201cYes. I like Thai food.\u201d<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

We carry the takeout up to my floor, and I keep waiting to feel that buzzing tension over having a woman in my apartment, the looming will-we-won\u2019t-we<\/em>, but it doesn\u2019t come. Perry walks in behind me but moves smoothly past, looking at the art all around her.<\/p>\n

I know what she sees: walls covered in photographs, paintings, masks, and sculptures. Some are from my trips to different countries; lots are from friends who have traded art for my help in small ways: financial advice, fixing a car, a job referral from my dad.<\/p>\n

She blinks away from the wall to look at my living room: couch, chair, table. They\u2019re all hand-me-downs from my parents. My mother redecorates every five years on schedule; I have their set from nearly fifteen years ago because it still feels too nice for the small studio apartment I like to keep.<\/p>\n

Perry looks at me in mild surprise, but I can\u2019t quite read her expression. \u201cIt\u2019s tidy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not always tidy,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

This seems to put her a little at ease, and it makes me remember Ansel\u2019s mild OCD tendencies.<\/p>\n

She smiles at me. \u201cI like your art.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

I put the food down on the dining table and move to grab some plates from the kitchen. But there\u2019s no need: Perry picks up some chopsticks and a carton and starts to eat as she looks around.<\/p>\n

She stops in front of a painting my friend Terra did for part of her senior art project. Perry just stands there, staring at it. It is<\/em> mesmerizing. It\u2019s a painting of a couple. He stares at her, as if he\u2019s trying to see inside her mind. Her eyes are closed, face tilted into his cupped hand. The paint itself is thick and swirling\u2014Terra\u2019s trademark style makes the viewer feel both the literal and metaphorical weight of the art\u2014and the colors are muted blues, creams, and grays. Only their lips are brilliant red.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is so lovely. The way he looks at her,\u201d Perry says.<\/p>\n

Most people remark on the color of the mouths; I love that this doesn\u2019t seem to be what she notices.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I like about it, too,\u201d I admit. \u201cShe doesn\u2019t even know. He\u2019s not looking at her like that for her benefit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Turning to me, she asks, \u201cHave you ever been in love?\u201d<\/p>\n

I chew a bite of noodles, thinking it over. I think back to my yearlong relationship in college with Mandy. Swallowing, I admit, \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turns to me. \u201cWhy not? How old are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m twenty-three.\u201d I\u2019m treated to a cascade of memories, all sharpened by hindsight, of me putting water polo before everything else. \u201cAnd, I don\u2019t know.\u201d I shove another bite of food in my mouth, chewing as I think. \u201cI had a girlfriend in college. I didn\u2019t love her because I was stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a hard time believing you were ever stupid about anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOliver might argue with you on that point. But no, I just didn\u2019t really get until later how great she was.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nods, turning back to the painting. I watch her mouth as a tiny smile flickers across it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you in love with Ansel?\u201d<\/p>\n

She nods again and I shove more noodles in my mouth, trying to figure out what I feel about this. Both happy and sad, I guess.<\/p>\n

Once I swallow my bite, I ask, \u201cAre you still<\/em> in love with Ansel?\u201d<\/p>\n

She bends, taking another bite of food and making me wait for her reply while she chews. Maybe while she thinks. Finally, she manages, \u201cNo. I love him, but not romantically anymore. We were so toxic.\u201d<\/p>\n

This makes me groan. \u201cI hate that word. It\u2019s so buzzy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause people use it in cases where it isn\u2019t true,\u201d she says, laughing. \u201cBut in our case, it was. We both wanted him to feel something he didn\u2019t, so we pretended for a very long time and were both resenting it at the end.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stare at her and then shiver. That\u2019s super fucking depressing. If memory serves, Ansel was with her for a really long time, like years<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s watch some Matlock<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMatlock? The old man?\u201d Perry laughs when I nod. \u201cYou get me some wine, I\u2019ll watch some Matlock<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I point to the selection of bottles near my dining room table and she heads there while I find the remote and start up the DVD player.<\/p>\n

Two weeks. I\u2019ve known her for two weeks, and when she returns with two jelly glasses and an open bottle of red, she collapses down next to me on the couch with the comfort of some combination of lover and sister and best friend.<\/p>\n

\u201cI like how you move,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

She looks at me, playfully scandalized.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean it,\u201d I tell her. \u201cYou move like water, or a ninja.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose are two very different things.\u201d She bends, pouring wine into each glass, and I do my best not to let my eyes skirt over her body.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really.\u201d<\/p>\n

She shakes her head, taking a sip and studying me. \u201cYou like the way I move<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I inhale, realizing she has a scent: it\u2019s soft, like an actual petal. Not some fake version of a flower. I let loose a tiny fantasy where she rubs a rose petal on her neck every morning, and then laugh. My brain is a Hallmark card.<\/p>\n

\u201cI like the way you move, too,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s like you\u2019re sort of . . . what is the word . . .\u201d She taps her finger to her mouth. \u201cDancing? Not really, but moving like this.\u201d She does a little bouncy dance on the couch. \u201cYou are comfortable in your body.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s because I\u2019m usually just hanging out at my apartment, naked.\u201d<\/p>\n

She blushes. \u201cJust walking around, naked?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d I smile at her. It\u2019s true. \u201cI just hang out here, drawing or reading or cooking. Watching Matlock<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before I really realize what she\u2019s doing, she stands and pulls her shirt off. Kicking off her shoes, she shimmies out of her jeans and falls back onto the couch in her underwear. She grins at me, looking like a misbehaving teenager.<\/p>\n

Hell yes<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I stand up, following suit, and shed my shorts, my T-shirt. \u201cWe\u2019re watching Matlock<\/em> in our undies.\u201d<\/p>\n

Perry giggles, curling in on herself. \u201cI can\u2019t imagine a better way to spend the night.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then she stretches, catlike, and curls into my side.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m warm, she\u2019s smooth and cool, and I feel when our skin meets in the middle. I reach for her wine and hand it to her, and then grab mine.<\/p>\n

Her thigh comes over my own, twisting our legs together, and when I turn, she tilts her face up to me.<\/p>\n

So I kiss her.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the soft press of my mouth to hers, and I linger, surprised by how much I like this. I\u2019m also struck by the realization that even though I absolutely want more, she\u2019s on the cusp of returning to the world after heartbreak, and I don\u2019t expect her to rush headlong into anything.<\/p>\n

She leans into me, eyes open as she sucks a little at my bottom lip, making me hum happily. I already know we\u2019ll only smooch a little tonight, and it won\u2019t turn wild or raw or move too fast. But the sense that there is<\/em> more for us buzzes just beneath the surface, and the electricity between us makes the hair on my arms stand on end.<\/p>\n

Perry pulls away, touching her lips and smiling as she looks at my face, and then she turns back to the television. Her head comes down to rest on my shoulder. I feel her fingers slide between mine and squeeze.<\/p>\n

\u201cJ\u2019aime c\u0327a, c\u2019est bien<\/em>,\u201d she whispers.<\/p>\n

And those words I know: I like this, it\u2019s good.<\/em><\/p>\n

I nod in agreement, giving her a simple, \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

The End<\/p>\n\"signature_laurenandchristina_twitter\"<\/a>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Surprise!! *confetti cannon* Some of you might remember this little short that appeared in the back of the Target edition of Wicked Sexy Liar.\u00a0We feel very fortunate to\u00a0have readers that …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[204,457],"tags":[493,510,446],"class_list":["post-3329","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blogs","category-extras","tag-extras","tag-not-joe","tag-wild-seasons"],"acf":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3329","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3329"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3329\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4428,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3329\/revisions\/4428"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3329"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3329"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3329"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}