Happy Book Birthday, friends! Scroll down if you want to read chapter 1, and we hope you have the best day. 22 books and counting, everyone go eat some cake!<\/p>\n
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Chapter 1<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\nW<\/span>hen I was in grade school, my best friend, Alison Kim, was obsessed with horses. She was the horse girl\u2014you know the one. She took lessons, came to school in cowboy boots, and always smelled faintly of barn. Not necessarily a bad thing, but certainly unique among the student body at Middleton Elementary. Her room was covered in pictures of horses; her clothes were all horse-themed.<\/p>\nShe had trading cards and figurines. This girl was invested and could be called upon at any given moment to answer a horsey question or rattle off an equestrian fact.<\/p>\n
Did you know horses can run a mere six hours after birth?<\/p>\n
Nope.<\/p>\n
What about their teeth\u2014were you aware a horse\u2019s teeth take up more space in their head than their brain does?<\/p>\n
Didn\u2019t know that, either.<\/p>\n
Most little girls are obsessed with something at one point, and for the most part it never gets a second thought. Puppies: standard. Princesses are also frequently idolized. An obsession with boy bands is to be expected. Begging your parents for a pony or unicorn is normal.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever been normal. Me? I was obsessed with serial killers.<\/p>\n
More specifically, I was obsessed with the idea of female serial killers. Hear the phrase serial killer, and most of us probably picture a man. It\u2019s not surprising\u2014let\u2019s be real, men are responsible for at least ninety-two percent of the evil in the world. For centuries, women have been socially programmed to be the nurturers, after all\u2014the protectors, the emotional bridges\u2014so when we hear of a woman who takes life instead of creating it, it\u2019s instinctively shocking.<\/p>\n
My particular fascination started around the time I played Lizzie Borden in my seventh-grade theater class. It was an original musical\u2014the brainchild of our eccentric-would-be-an-understatement teacher\u2014and I landed the lead role. Before then, the concept of murder was still loose and shapeless in my head. But, ever studious as a child, I gobbled up everything I could about Lizzie Borden, the gruesome hatchet murders, the dramatic trial, the acquittal.<\/p>\n
The fact that, to this day, the murders remain unsolved was enough to get the wheels in my mind spinning: What is it about the male brain that makes it not just more aggressive in general but more prone to serial violence\u2014and what trips that same switch in a woman? It\u2019s why I read every book on the subject I could find as a teen, watched every crime drama and mystery, and why I now teach criminology at UC Santa Barbara, and am working on my own book about the very women who so fascinated me as a child.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s probably also why I\u2019m drinking it up with four of my strictly platonic best guy friends, instead of out enjoying myself on an actual date.<\/p>\n
No man wants to hear \u201cI wrote my thesis on gender differences in serial murderers\u201d during the Tell me about yourself portion of an initial rendezvous.<\/p>\n
\u201cMillie.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMills?\u201d<\/p>\n
My attention first snags on Ed\u2019s voice, and then focuses on Reid\u2019s. \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid Campbell\u2014one of the aforementioned strictly platonic best guy friends, the reason we\u2019re here celebrating tonight, and a man whose genetics never got the memo that it\u2019s unfair to be both brilliant and beautiful\u2014grins at me from across the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you going to pick your game piece or stare slackjawed at the wall all night?\u201d He\u2019s still waiting, still smiling. It\u2019s only now that I notice the game board on the table, and the pastel money he begins distributing.<\/p>\n
Apparently while zoning out, I inadvertently agreed to play Monopoly. \u201cUgh. Guys. Again?\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid, who for some reason is always the banker, looks back up at me with faux-wounded blue eyes. \u201cCome on.<\/p>\n
Don\u2019t even pretend you don\u2019t love it. Getting a monopoly on Park Place and Boardwalk gives you an obscene amount of joy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI loved it when I was ten. I still mostly liked it two years ago,\u201d I say. \u201cBut why do we keep playing it when it always ends the same?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean it always ends the same?\u201d Ed\u2014or Stephen Edward D\u2019Onofrio! if you\u2019re his mother\u2014pulls out the chair to my left. Ed\u2019s hair is this wild mop of reddish-brown curls that always looks like he either just got up or should really go to bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor starters,\u201d I begin, \u201cReid is always the top hat, you\u2019re the car, Alex is the ship, Chris is the shoe, and I\u2019m the dog. You\u2019ll go to the bathroom twelve times right before it\u2019s your turn so we all have to wait. Chris will hoard his money and then get mad when he keeps landing on Alex\u2019s hotels. Reid will only buy the utilities and somehow still manage to clean the floor with all of us, and I\u2019ll get bored and quit six hours into a never-ending game.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not true,\u201d Ed says. \u201cI quit last time, and Chris bought up all the orange properties to get back at Alex for the rooster-shaped birthday cake.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMan, that was a great cake,\u201d Alex says, dark eyes downcast as he laughs into his drink. \u201cStill worth Chris putting salt in my beer for two weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s greater,\u201d Chris replies, \u201cis how you never once expected the salt, even after the fourth time.\u201d<\/p>\n
In typical fashion, Reid won\u2019t be distracted from his goal, and pipes up from where he\u2019s organizing the property cards. \u201cThe rules were very clear tonight: my party, my choice.\u201d<\/p>\n
We groan in unison because he has a point. Reid and Ed are both in neuroscience\u2014also at UCSB\u2014but while Ed works as a postdoc researcher in Reid\u2019s lab, Reid is a newly minted associate professor, just awarded tenure. Said tenure is why I\u2019m wearing both a dress and a party hat, and why there are somewhat droopy crepe paper streamers hung throughout Chris\u2019s living room.<\/p>\n
Chris is always Team Reid; he\u2019s gathering up the game pieces, but not to put them away, to compromise. \u201cWe\u2019ll switch things up. I\u2019ll be the dog, Mills.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you\u2019re missing my point, Christopher.\u201d<\/p>\n
Four sets of eyes stare blankly back at me, urging me to give up the battle.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay then,\u201d I say, resigned as I stand and walk into the kitchen for another bottle of wine.<\/p>\n
~<\/p>\n
An hour later, I\u2019ve lost track of how much pretend money I\u2019ve paid Reid, and how many times Alex has refilled my glass. Alex is a professor of biochemistry, which explains how he can always be counted on to get me drunk. And oh, I am drunk. I don\u2019t know what I was complaining about: Monopoly is awesome!<\/p>\n
Chris reshuffles the Community Chest cards and places them facedown on the board. \u201cEd, are you still seeing that redhead?\u201d<\/p>\n
I have no idea how Chris remembers this. Between Alex and Ed it seems there\u2019s never a shortage of odd dating stories to go around. Alex, I get. He\u2019s tall, dark, and wicked, and even though he\u2019s originally from Huntington Beach, he spent every childhood summer with his extended family in Ecuador, giving him an accent that stops women in their tracks. He\u2019s also never serious about anyone, and rarely sees someone again after getting a cab home in the morning.<\/p>\n
Ed is . . . none of these things. Don\u2019t get me wrong, he\u2019s not unattractive and he has the aforementioned full head of hair, but he\u2019s more like a grown frat boy than a manly man. If we went to his place right now we\u2019d find ketchup and a case of Mountain Dew in his refrigerator, and a living room full of pinball machines instead of furniture. Still, he goes out more than me, Reid, and Chris combined.<\/p>\n
Not that that\u2019s saying much.<\/p>\n
Reid is a workaholic. Chris is gorgeous and accomplished, mentoring fellow African American chemists right here at the university. But he\u2019s also picky and serious, and works the same insane hours as Reid does. And me? Honestly, maybe I\u2019m just lazy.<\/p>\n
Alex counts out his spaces and sets the dice in the center of the board. \u201cYou\u2019re talking about the one with the eye patch?\u201d<\/p>\n
Okay, that jogs my memory.<\/p>\n
Ed isn\u2019t amused. \u201cShe did not have an eye patch.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cActually, I remember her, too,\u201d I say. \u201cI distinctly recall seeing a patch covering an eye.\u201d I motion to the board and the neat row of hotels lined up there. \u201cPS, it\u2019s your turn and if you roll anything other than a two\u2014which will land you in jail\u2014you are fu-ucked.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\u201cSlumlords,\u201d Ed mutters, but rolls the dice anyway. I have no idea how, but he does\u2014miraculously\u2014roll a two, and does a celebratory fist pump before scooting his little car into the space marked Jail. A momentary reprieve from the rows and rows of Alex\u2019s hotels. \u201cAnd it wasn\u2019t an eye patch, it was a small bandage. We were being . . . amorous and things got a little crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA little crazy as in . . .\u201d I trail off, deciding I might not really want the answer.<\/p>\n
Reid laughs over the top of his glass. When Ed doesn\u2019t immediately clarify, though, his smile slowly straightens, and a hush falls over the room as we\u2019re all left to mentally unravel this, logistically. \u201cWait. Seriously?\u201d<\/p>\n
I tidy up the meager remains of my money. \u201cHe did say it was a small bandage.\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid falls forward onto the table laughing, and maybe it\u2019s the fact that half my blood has to be wine at this point, but I\u2019m reminded all over again that the first thing I noticed about him was his smile.<\/p>\n
Just over two years ago, Reid and I were introduced by my then-boyfriend Dustin, the department chair for criminology. (Yes, this means that my ex-boyfriend is now my boss\u2014the reason I will never date someone I work with again.) Reid was new to UCSB, and at the dedication of a new computer science building, Dustin made some crack about it being the first time anyone had seen Reid outside his lab. Apparently Reid and his fianc\u00e9e had just broken up; her first complaint was that Reid spent too much time at work. I didn\u2019t know that at the time, but I found out later that Dustin had. Reid laughed at the little dig and continued to smile warmly as we shook hands. I had a tiny, immediate crush on that sparkling, crinkly-eyed smile that survived the sting of Dustin\u2019s underhanded jabs.<\/p>\n
For un-Reid-related reasons, I broke up with Dustin a few months later, but because it turns out no one likedDustin anyway, I got to keep Reid, and all his friends, too: Chris and Reid went to graduate school together, Ed joined Reid\u2019s lab as a postdoc shortly after he was hired, and Alex shared lab space with Chris when they were both new faculty at UCSB. I\u2019m the only non-sciencey person in the group, but at work and at home, these guys have become my sweet little chosen family of sorts.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d Chris says, \u201cI\u2019m going to take that as a no, on the still dating question.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ed rolls again, happy when he doesn\u2019t manage a double and gets to remain safely in jail. \u201cCorrect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen who are you inviting to the commencement banquet?\u201d Chris asks.<\/p>\n
Reid pulls his attention from the board and over to Chris. \u201cDo we have to think about that yet? The banquet is<\/p>\n
in June. It\u2019s only March.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chris smiles and looks smugly around the table. \u201cI take it none of you heard the rumor about this year\u2019s speaker.\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid searches his expression. \u201cThe speaker will make me want to bring a date?\u201d<\/p>\n
Chris stands and walks into the kitchen to grab another beer. \u201cI heard a rumor that Obama is giving the commencement address, and a keynote at the Deans\u2019 Banquet. Black tie, plus-one, the whole nine.\u201d<\/p>\n
We all gasp, deeply, in unison.<\/p>\n
\u201cI got word that the chancellor is going to announce it this week,\u201d he adds.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo way.\u201d Ed stares at him, eyes wide behind his thick glasses. \u201cOh. I am definitely going this year.\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid laughs, picking up the dice. \u201cYou\u2019re supposed to go every year.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLast year the commencement speaker was Gilbert Gottfried. I don\u2019t think I missed anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI actually wanted to talk to you guys about this,\u201d Chris says. \u201cNone of us is dating anyone\u2014\u201d He stops, glancing to where Ed is balancing a cork on his nose and counting to see how long he\u2019s able to do it.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at this, Millie.\u201d Ed stretches his arms out. \u201cTen seconds, no hands.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chris turns back to the rest of us. \u201c\u2014or has any serious prospects,\u201d he continues slowly. \u201cWho are we taking?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ed straightens, catching the cork in his palm. \u201cWhy can\u2019t we all go together?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause it\u2019s not junior prom,\u201d Chris says.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can\u2019t just go solo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, you could,\u201d Chris says, \u201cbut this is gonna be a big deal with dancing and coupley stuff. Go solo and be the loner, go in a group and we\u2019re the table of dudes\u2014and Mills\u2014sitting there awkwardly. We should get dates.\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid rolls his dice and begins counting out his turn. \u201cI call Millie.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou call me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhoa, whoa.\u201d Derailed from his initial argument, Chris turns to Reid with a frown. \u201cIf we\u2019re just going to pair up, why\u2019d you pick her?\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid shrugs and gives a vague nod in my direction. \u201cShe looks better in a ball gown.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ed seems genuinely insulted. \u201cYou have obviously never seen me in one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI took you to the Deans\u2019 Banquet last year,\u201d Chris reminds Reid. \u201cWe had an awesome time.\u201d<\/p>\n
His turn completed, Reid drops the dice onto the center of the board and picks up his drink. \u201cWe did. I\u2019m just being fair and going with someone else this time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ed smacks Chris\u2019s shoulder. \u201cI\u2019m more Reid\u2019s type. Remember that cute bartender he liked? The one with the curly hair?\u201d He makes a show of pointing to his head and the mass of auburn curls there. \u201cTell me we wouldn\u2019t look great together.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can beat that.\u201d Alex brings up a foot to rest on the table and rolls up the hem of his jeans, flexing his calf muscle. \u201cReid is a leg man. Just look at these stems. I could spin you all around that dance floor.\u201d<\/p>\n
Reid watches each of them, bemused. \u201cI mean, technically speaking, Millie is my type. Being female and whatnot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it weird to anyone that this roomful of straight men is fighting over Reid and not me?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
Chris, Alex, and Ed seem to give this fair consideration before answering \u201cNo\u201d in unison.<\/p>\n
I lift my glass of wine and take a deep swallow. \u201cOkay, then.\u201d<\/p>\n
Finally, Reid stands, carrying his empty glass into the<\/p>\n
kitchen. \u201cMillie, you need anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOther than tips on how to develop an alluring female presence?\u201d I ask. \u201cI\u2019m good. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
At the counter Reid rinses his glass and bends to open the dishwasher, carefully setting it inside. It\u2019s something I\u2019ve seen him do a hundred times, and I don\u2019t know if it\u2019s the talk of dates, or the wine, or if Reid is just looking particularly good in that dark gray shirt, but tonight, I don\u2019t look away.<\/p>\n
I watch as he easily moves around the kitchen, picking up stray dishes near the sink and loading them into the correct tray. I can see the muscles in his back flex as he bends when he\u2019s done, rubbing a hand over the broad head of Chris\u2019s silver Labrador, Maisie.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve had enough to drink that my limbs feel loose and pliable; my stomach feels warm. My brain is a little fuzzy around the edges\u2014just enough to block out my tendency to overthink everything. Instead, my mind meanders around the fact that Reid doing something as mundane as loading a dishwasher and petting a dog is absolutely fascinating.<\/em><\/p>\nWith the kitchen tidied up, Reid extends his arms above his head in a leisurely stretch. My eyes are like magnets and follow the lines of his body, the way the fabric of his shirt pulls tight across his chest and strains along the curve of his biceps. I get a peek of stomach.<\/p>\n
Reid has a really nice stomach.<\/p>\n
I bet he\u2019d look great with that shirt all the way off . . .<\/p>\n
Kneeling above me, arms outstretched, fingers wrapped around the headboard while he\u2014<\/p>\n
Whoa.<\/em><\/p>\nI mean . . . WHOA.<\/em> Where did that come from?<\/p>\nI fix my attention down at the dining room table and it\u2019s a full five seconds before I dare to move again. I just had a sex thought about Reid. Reid. Reid Campbell, who always roots for the underdog in any sporting event, who pretends he enjoys classical music so Chris doesn\u2019t go alone to the symphony, who buys a new pair of running shoes precisely every six months.<\/p>\n
When he returns to the table and sits down next to me, if the pounding of my heart is any indication, I do not look like I\u2019m thinking about resuming our fascinating game of Monopoly.<\/p>\n
I blink over to my empty wineglass, eager to point blame in the most convenient place. How many of these did I have? Two? Three? More? I\u2019m not hammered, but I\u2019m not exactly sober, either.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m the kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone, not pull my best friend\u2019s pants down.<\/p>\n
GAH.<\/em><\/p>\nStrictly platonic best guy friend. Strictly platonic best guy friend.<\/p>\n
Heat rushes to my face and I stand so quickly my chair teeters on its back legs. Four sets of curious eyes swing in my direction, and I turn, making a beeline for the bathroom.<\/p>\n
\u201cMillie?\u201d Reid calls after me. \u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGotta pee!\u201d I shout over my shoulder, not stopping until I\u2019m safely inside the bathroom and the door is firmly closed behind me.<\/p>\n
Normally I laugh when confronted with one of the dozen roosters we\u2019ve given Chris over the past two years. But now? Not so much. The cock thing began as a joke\u2014Chris complimented a giant rooster painting at Ed\u2019s mom\u2019s house, and she gave it to him on the spot\u2014so of course every birthday, Valentine\u2019s day, and Christmas present since has been some form of rooster d\u00e9cor. But even the sight of\u00a0one of my favorites\u2014a <\/span>RISE AND SHINE MOTHER CLUCKERS sign I\u00a0<\/span>got him for his last birthday\u2014only makes me think of the cock joke, which makes me think of penises, which reminds me of the image of Reid naked, in my bed, on top of me.<\/p>\nHands on the counter, I lean in to examine my reflection and, okay . . . it could be better. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes a little glassy. My eyeliner and mascara have converged in a dark smear below my lower lids.<\/p>\n
Kneeling, arms outstretched, fingers wrapped around the headboard\u2014<\/em><\/p>\nWith the faucet on as high as it will go, I clean up and splash cold water on my face. It helps a little\u2014cooling down my skin and clearing out the haze so I can think.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s not that I find Reid unappealing in a sexual way\u2014 he\u2019s gorgeous and brilliant and hysterical\u2014but he\u2019s also my best friend. My Reid. The guy who held my hand during an emergency root canal and dressed up as Kylo Ren when we went to see The Last Jedi on my twenty-ninth birthday. I\u2019m close with the other guys, but for whatever reason, it\u2019s different with Reid. Not that kind of different, but . . . closer. Maybe it\u2019s because he always knows to find me in the true crime section of the bookstore. Maybe it\u2019s because he has a level of intuition that I\u2019ve never known in a friend before. Maybe it\u2019s because we can be quiet together, and it\u2019s never weird.<\/p>\n
I squeeze my eyes shut; it\u2019s hard to have an existential crisis when you\u2019re drunk. Part of me thinks I should head to the nearest exit, but the other part thinks we should just . . . hug it out.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a knock at the door and I step back just far enough to open it a crack. It\u2019s Reid, looking sweetly disheveled with a dish towel still slung over his shoulder.<\/p>\n
God damn it.<\/p>\n
I straighten, hoping I look more sober than I feel. \u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything okay?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cTotally.\u201d I lean against the doorframe in an attempt to appear casual. All this really does is bring my face within inches of his, which somehow makes me feel drunker. \u201cYou know how I am with wine. Goes right through me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m an idiot, but before I can regret what I\u2019ve said, he\u2019s laughing. Why does he always laugh at my dumb jokes?<\/em><\/p>\n\u201cEd and Alex are headed out,\u201d he says quietly. \u201cYou can\u2019t drive. Can I take you home?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not drunk.\u201d This statement would carry more weight if I didn\u2019t hiccup immediately after saying it. \u201cAnd I<\/p>\n
wasn\u2019t going to drive.\u201d<\/p>\n
He tilts his head and a piece of soft brown hair falls forward, curling over his forehead. My brain immediately sides with Team Hug It Out.<\/p>\n
Chapter 1<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n W<\/span>hen I was in grade school, my best friend, Alison Kim, was obsessed with horses. She was the horse girl\u2014you know the one. She took lessons, came to school in cowboy boots, and always smelled faintly of barn. Not necessarily a bad thing, but certainly unique among the student body at Middleton Elementary. Her room was covered in pictures of horses; her clothes were all horse-themed.<\/p>\n She had trading cards and figurines. This girl was invested and could be called upon at any given moment to answer a horsey question or rattle off an equestrian fact.<\/p>\n Did you know horses can run a mere six hours after birth?<\/p>\n Nope.<\/p>\n What about their teeth\u2014were you aware a horse\u2019s teeth take up more space in their head than their brain does?<\/p>\n Didn\u2019t know that, either.<\/p>\n Most little girls are obsessed with something at one point, and for the most part it never gets a second thought. Puppies: standard. Princesses are also frequently idolized. An obsession with boy bands is to be expected. Begging your parents for a pony or unicorn is normal.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever been normal. Me? I was obsessed with serial killers.<\/p>\n More specifically, I was obsessed with the idea of female serial killers. Hear the phrase serial killer, and most of us probably picture a man. It\u2019s not surprising\u2014let\u2019s be real, men are responsible for at least ninety-two percent of the evil in the world. For centuries, women have been socially programmed to be the nurturers, after all\u2014the protectors, the emotional bridges\u2014so when we hear of a woman who takes life instead of creating it, it\u2019s instinctively shocking.<\/p>\n My particular fascination started around the time I played Lizzie Borden in my seventh-grade theater class. It was an original musical\u2014the brainchild of our eccentric-would-be-an-understatement teacher\u2014and I landed the lead role. Before then, the concept of murder was still loose and shapeless in my head. But, ever studious as a child, I gobbled up everything I could about Lizzie Borden, the gruesome hatchet murders, the dramatic trial, the acquittal.<\/p>\n The fact that, to this day, the murders remain unsolved was enough to get the wheels in my mind spinning: What is it about the male brain that makes it not just more aggressive in general but more prone to serial violence\u2014and what trips that same switch in a woman? It\u2019s why I read every book on the subject I could find as a teen, watched every crime drama and mystery, and why I now teach criminology at UC Santa Barbara, and am working on my own book about the very women who so fascinated me as a child.<\/p>\n It\u2019s probably also why I\u2019m drinking it up with four of my strictly platonic best guy friends, instead of out enjoying myself on an actual date.<\/p>\n No man wants to hear \u201cI wrote my thesis on gender differences in serial murderers\u201d during the Tell me about yourself portion of an initial rendezvous.<\/p>\n \u201cMillie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMills?\u201d<\/p>\n My attention first snags on Ed\u2019s voice, and then focuses on Reid\u2019s. \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n Reid Campbell\u2014one of the aforementioned strictly platonic best guy friends, the reason we\u2019re here celebrating tonight, and a man whose genetics never got the memo that it\u2019s unfair to be both brilliant and beautiful\u2014grins at me from across the table.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you going to pick your game piece or stare slackjawed at the wall all night?\u201d He\u2019s still waiting, still smiling. It\u2019s only now that I notice the game board on the table, and the pastel money he begins distributing.<\/p>\n Apparently while zoning out, I inadvertently agreed to play Monopoly. \u201cUgh. Guys. Again?\u201d<\/p>\n Reid, who for some reason is always the banker, looks back up at me with faux-wounded blue eyes. \u201cCome on.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t even pretend you don\u2019t love it. Getting a monopoly on Park Place and Boardwalk gives you an obscene amount of joy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI loved it when I was ten. I still mostly liked it two years ago,\u201d I say. \u201cBut why do we keep playing it when it always ends the same?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean it always ends the same?\u201d Ed\u2014or Stephen Edward D\u2019Onofrio! if you\u2019re his mother\u2014pulls out the chair to my left. Ed\u2019s hair is this wild mop of reddish-brown curls that always looks like he either just got up or should really go to bed.<\/p>\n \u201cFor starters,\u201d I begin, \u201cReid is always the top hat, you\u2019re the car, Alex is the ship, Chris is the shoe, and I\u2019m the dog. You\u2019ll go to the bathroom twelve times right before it\u2019s your turn so we all have to wait. Chris will hoard his money and then get mad when he keeps landing on Alex\u2019s hotels. Reid will only buy the utilities and somehow still manage to clean the floor with all of us, and I\u2019ll get bored and quit six hours into a never-ending game.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not true,\u201d Ed says. \u201cI quit last time, and Chris bought up all the orange properties to get back at Alex for the rooster-shaped birthday cake.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMan, that was a great cake,\u201d Alex says, dark eyes downcast as he laughs into his drink. \u201cStill worth Chris putting salt in my beer for two weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s greater,\u201d Chris replies, \u201cis how you never once expected the salt, even after the fourth time.\u201d<\/p>\n In typical fashion, Reid won\u2019t be distracted from his goal, and pipes up from where he\u2019s organizing the property cards. \u201cThe rules were very clear tonight: my party, my choice.\u201d<\/p>\n We groan in unison because he has a point. Reid and Ed are both in neuroscience\u2014also at UCSB\u2014but while Ed works as a postdoc researcher in Reid\u2019s lab, Reid is a newly minted associate professor, just awarded tenure. Said tenure is why I\u2019m wearing both a dress and a party hat, and why there are somewhat droopy crepe paper streamers hung throughout Chris\u2019s living room.<\/p>\n Chris is always Team Reid; he\u2019s gathering up the game pieces, but not to put them away, to compromise. \u201cWe\u2019ll switch things up. I\u2019ll be the dog, Mills.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think you\u2019re missing my point, Christopher.\u201d<\/p>\n Four sets of eyes stare blankly back at me, urging me to give up the battle.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay then,\u201d I say, resigned as I stand and walk into the kitchen for another bottle of wine.<\/p>\n ~<\/p>\n An hour later, I\u2019ve lost track of how much pretend money I\u2019ve paid Reid, and how many times Alex has refilled my glass. Alex is a professor of biochemistry, which explains how he can always be counted on to get me drunk. And oh, I am drunk. I don\u2019t know what I was complaining about: Monopoly is awesome!<\/p>\n Chris reshuffles the Community Chest cards and places them facedown on the board. \u201cEd, are you still seeing that redhead?\u201d<\/p>\n I have no idea how Chris remembers this. Between Alex and Ed it seems there\u2019s never a shortage of odd dating stories to go around. Alex, I get. He\u2019s tall, dark, and wicked, and even though he\u2019s originally from Huntington Beach, he spent every childhood summer with his extended family in Ecuador, giving him an accent that stops women in their tracks. He\u2019s also never serious about anyone, and rarely sees someone again after getting a cab home in the morning.<\/p>\n Ed is . . . none of these things. Don\u2019t get me wrong, he\u2019s not unattractive and he has the aforementioned full head of hair, but he\u2019s more like a grown frat boy than a manly man. If we went to his place right now we\u2019d find ketchup and a case of Mountain Dew in his refrigerator, and a living room full of pinball machines instead of furniture. Still, he goes out more than me, Reid, and Chris combined.<\/p>\n Not that that\u2019s saying much.<\/p>\n Reid is a workaholic. Chris is gorgeous and accomplished, mentoring fellow African American chemists right here at the university. But he\u2019s also picky and serious, and works the same insane hours as Reid does. And me? Honestly, maybe I\u2019m just lazy.<\/p>\n Alex counts out his spaces and sets the dice in the center of the board. \u201cYou\u2019re talking about the one with the eye patch?\u201d<\/p>\n Okay, that jogs my memory.<\/p>\n Ed isn\u2019t amused. \u201cShe did not have an eye patch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cActually, I remember her, too,\u201d I say. \u201cI distinctly recall seeing a patch covering an eye.\u201d I motion to the board and the neat row of hotels lined up there. \u201cPS, it\u2019s your turn and if you roll anything other than a two\u2014which will land you in jail\u2014you are fu-ucked.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSlumlords,\u201d Ed mutters, but rolls the dice anyway. I have no idea how, but he does\u2014miraculously\u2014roll a two, and does a celebratory fist pump before scooting his little car into the space marked Jail. A momentary reprieve from the rows and rows of Alex\u2019s hotels. \u201cAnd it wasn\u2019t an eye patch, it was a small bandage. We were being . . . amorous and things got a little crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA little crazy as in . . .\u201d I trail off, deciding I might not really want the answer.<\/p>\n Reid laughs over the top of his glass. When Ed doesn\u2019t immediately clarify, though, his smile slowly straightens, and a hush falls over the room as we\u2019re all left to mentally unravel this, logistically. \u201cWait. Seriously?\u201d<\/p>\n I tidy up the meager remains of my money. \u201cHe did say it was a small bandage.\u201d<\/p>\n Reid falls forward onto the table laughing, and maybe it\u2019s the fact that half my blood has to be wine at this point, but I\u2019m reminded all over again that the first thing I noticed about him was his smile.<\/p>\n Just over two years ago, Reid and I were introduced by my then-boyfriend Dustin, the department chair for criminology. (Yes, this means that my ex-boyfriend is now my boss\u2014the reason I will never date someone I work with again.) Reid was new to UCSB, and at the dedication of a new computer science building, Dustin made some crack about it being the first time anyone had seen Reid outside his lab. Apparently Reid and his fianc\u00e9e had just broken up; her first complaint was that Reid spent too much time at work. I didn\u2019t know that at the time, but I found out later that Dustin had. Reid laughed at the little dig and continued to smile warmly as we shook hands. I had a tiny, immediate crush on that sparkling, crinkly-eyed smile that survived the sting of Dustin\u2019s underhanded jabs.<\/p>\n For un-Reid-related reasons, I broke up with Dustin a few months later, but because it turns out no one likedDustin anyway, I got to keep Reid, and all his friends, too: Chris and Reid went to graduate school together, Ed joined Reid\u2019s lab as a postdoc shortly after he was hired, and Alex shared lab space with Chris when they were both new faculty at UCSB. I\u2019m the only non-sciencey person in the group, but at work and at home, these guys have become my sweet little chosen family of sorts.<\/p>\n \u201cSo,\u201d Chris says, \u201cI\u2019m going to take that as a no, on the still dating question.\u201d<\/p>\n Ed rolls again, happy when he doesn\u2019t manage a double and gets to remain safely in jail. \u201cCorrect.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen who are you inviting to the commencement banquet?\u201d Chris asks.<\/p>\n Reid pulls his attention from the board and over to Chris. \u201cDo we have to think about that yet? The banquet is<\/p>\n in June. It\u2019s only March.\u201d<\/p>\n Chris smiles and looks smugly around the table. \u201cI take it none of you heard the rumor about this year\u2019s speaker.\u201d<\/p>\n Reid searches his expression. \u201cThe speaker will make me want to bring a date?\u201d<\/p>\n Chris stands and walks into the kitchen to grab another beer. \u201cI heard a rumor that Obama is giving the commencement address, and a keynote at the Deans\u2019 Banquet. Black tie, plus-one, the whole nine.\u201d<\/p>\n We all gasp, deeply, in unison.<\/p>\n \u201cI got word that the chancellor is going to announce it this week,\u201d he adds.<\/p>\n \u201cNo way.\u201d Ed stares at him, eyes wide behind his thick glasses. \u201cOh. I am definitely going this year.\u201d<\/p>\n Reid laughs, picking up the dice. \u201cYou\u2019re supposed to go every year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLast year the commencement speaker was Gilbert Gottfried. I don\u2019t think I missed anything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI actually wanted to talk to you guys about this,\u201d Chris says. \u201cNone of us is dating anyone\u2014\u201d He stops, glancing to where Ed is balancing a cork on his nose and counting to see how long he\u2019s able to do it.<\/p>\n \u201cLook at this, Millie.\u201d Ed stretches his arms out. \u201cTen seconds, no hands.\u201d<\/p>\n Chris turns back to the rest of us. \u201c\u2014or has any serious prospects,\u201d he continues slowly. \u201cWho are we taking?\u201d<\/p>\n Ed straightens, catching the cork in his palm. \u201cWhy can\u2019t we all go together?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause it\u2019s not junior prom,\u201d Chris says.<\/p>\n \u201cWe can\u2019t just go solo?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI mean, you could,\u201d Chris says, \u201cbut this is gonna be a big deal with dancing and coupley stuff. Go solo and be the loner, go in a group and we\u2019re the table of dudes\u2014and Mills\u2014sitting there awkwardly. We should get dates.\u201d<\/p>\n Reid rolls his dice and begins counting out his turn. \u201cI call Millie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou call me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhoa, whoa.\u201d Derailed from his initial argument, Chris turns to Reid with a frown. \u201cIf we\u2019re just going to pair up, why\u2019d you pick her?\u201d<\/p>\n Reid shrugs and gives a vague nod in my direction. \u201cShe looks better in a ball gown.\u201d<\/p>\n Ed seems genuinely insulted. \u201cYou have obviously never seen me in one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI took you to the Deans\u2019 Banquet last year,\u201d Chris reminds Reid. \u201cWe had an awesome time.\u201d<\/p>\n His turn completed, Reid drops the dice onto the center of the board and picks up his drink. \u201cWe did. I\u2019m just being fair and going with someone else this time.\u201d<\/p>\n Ed smacks Chris\u2019s shoulder. \u201cI\u2019m more Reid\u2019s type. Remember that cute bartender he liked? The one with the curly hair?\u201d He makes a show of pointing to his head and the mass of auburn curls there. \u201cTell me we wouldn\u2019t look great together.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can beat that.\u201d Alex brings up a foot to rest on the table and rolls up the hem of his jeans, flexing his calf muscle. \u201cReid is a leg man. Just look at these stems. I could spin you all around that dance floor.\u201d<\/p>\n Reid watches each of them, bemused. \u201cI mean, technically speaking, Millie is my type. Being female and whatnot.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs it weird to anyone that this roomful of straight men is fighting over Reid and not me?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n Chris, Alex, and Ed seem to give this fair consideration before answering \u201cNo\u201d in unison.<\/p>\n I lift my glass of wine and take a deep swallow. \u201cOkay, then.\u201d<\/p>\n Finally, Reid stands, carrying his empty glass into the<\/p>\n kitchen. \u201cMillie, you need anything?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOther than tips on how to develop an alluring female presence?\u201d I ask. \u201cI\u2019m good. Thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n At the counter Reid rinses his glass and bends to open the dishwasher, carefully setting it inside. It\u2019s something I\u2019ve seen him do a hundred times, and I don\u2019t know if it\u2019s the talk of dates, or the wine, or if Reid is just looking particularly good in that dark gray shirt, but tonight, I don\u2019t look away.<\/p>\n I watch as he easily moves around the kitchen, picking up stray dishes near the sink and loading them into the correct tray. I can see the muscles in his back flex as he bends when he\u2019s done, rubbing a hand over the broad head of Chris\u2019s silver Labrador, Maisie.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve had enough to drink that my limbs feel loose and pliable; my stomach feels warm. My brain is a little fuzzy around the edges\u2014just enough to block out my tendency to overthink everything. Instead, my mind meanders around the fact that Reid doing something as mundane as loading a dishwasher and petting a dog is absolutely fascinating.<\/em><\/p>\n With the kitchen tidied up, Reid extends his arms above his head in a leisurely stretch. My eyes are like magnets and follow the lines of his body, the way the fabric of his shirt pulls tight across his chest and strains along the curve of his biceps. I get a peek of stomach.<\/p>\n Reid has a really nice stomach.<\/p>\n I bet he\u2019d look great with that shirt all the way off . . .<\/p>\n Kneeling above me, arms outstretched, fingers wrapped around the headboard while he\u2014<\/p>\n Whoa.<\/em><\/p>\n I mean . . . WHOA.<\/em> Where did that come from?<\/p>\n I fix my attention down at the dining room table and it\u2019s a full five seconds before I dare to move again. I just had a sex thought about Reid. Reid. Reid Campbell, who always roots for the underdog in any sporting event, who pretends he enjoys classical music so Chris doesn\u2019t go alone to the symphony, who buys a new pair of running shoes precisely every six months.<\/p>\n When he returns to the table and sits down next to me, if the pounding of my heart is any indication, I do not look like I\u2019m thinking about resuming our fascinating game of Monopoly.<\/p>\n I blink over to my empty wineglass, eager to point blame in the most convenient place. How many of these did I have? Two? Three? More? I\u2019m not hammered, but I\u2019m not exactly sober, either.<\/p>\n I\u2019m the kind of tipsy where I should want to hug everyone, not pull my best friend\u2019s pants down.<\/p>\n GAH.<\/em><\/p>\n Strictly platonic best guy friend. Strictly platonic best guy friend.<\/p>\n Heat rushes to my face and I stand so quickly my chair teeters on its back legs. Four sets of curious eyes swing in my direction, and I turn, making a beeline for the bathroom.<\/p>\n \u201cMillie?\u201d Reid calls after me. \u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGotta pee!\u201d I shout over my shoulder, not stopping until I\u2019m safely inside the bathroom and the door is firmly closed behind me.<\/p>\n Normally I laugh when confronted with one of the dozen roosters we\u2019ve given Chris over the past two years. But now? Not so much. The cock thing began as a joke\u2014Chris complimented a giant rooster painting at Ed\u2019s mom\u2019s house, and she gave it to him on the spot\u2014so of course every birthday, Valentine\u2019s day, and Christmas present since has been some form of rooster d\u00e9cor. But even the sight of\u00a0one of my favorites\u2014a <\/span>RISE AND SHINE MOTHER CLUCKERS sign I\u00a0<\/span>got him for his last birthday\u2014only makes me think of the cock joke, which makes me think of penises, which reminds me of the image of Reid naked, in my bed, on top of me.<\/p>\n Hands on the counter, I lean in to examine my reflection and, okay . . . it could be better. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes a little glassy. My eyeliner and mascara have converged in a dark smear below my lower lids.<\/p>\n Kneeling, arms outstretched, fingers wrapped around the headboard\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n With the faucet on as high as it will go, I clean up and splash cold water on my face. It helps a little\u2014cooling down my skin and clearing out the haze so I can think.<\/p>\n It\u2019s not that I find Reid unappealing in a sexual way\u2014 he\u2019s gorgeous and brilliant and hysterical\u2014but he\u2019s also my best friend. My Reid. The guy who held my hand during an emergency root canal and dressed up as Kylo Ren when we went to see The Last Jedi on my twenty-ninth birthday. I\u2019m close with the other guys, but for whatever reason, it\u2019s different with Reid. Not that kind of different, but . . . closer. Maybe it\u2019s because he always knows to find me in the true crime section of the bookstore. Maybe it\u2019s because he has a level of intuition that I\u2019ve never known in a friend before. Maybe it\u2019s because we can be quiet together, and it\u2019s never weird.<\/p>\n I squeeze my eyes shut; it\u2019s hard to have an existential crisis when you\u2019re drunk. Part of me thinks I should head to the nearest exit, but the other part thinks we should just . . . hug it out.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a knock at the door and I step back just far enough to open it a crack. It\u2019s Reid, looking sweetly disheveled with a dish towel still slung over his shoulder.<\/p>\n God damn it.<\/p>\n I straighten, hoping I look more sober than I feel. \u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEverything okay?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n \u201cTotally.\u201d I lean against the doorframe in an attempt to appear casual. All this really does is bring my face within inches of his, which somehow makes me feel drunker. \u201cYou know how I am with wine. Goes right through me.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m an idiot, but before I can regret what I\u2019ve said, he\u2019s laughing. Why does he always laugh at my dumb jokes?<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cEd and Alex are headed out,\u201d he says quietly. \u201cYou can\u2019t drive. Can I take you home?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not drunk.\u201d This statement would carry more weight if I didn\u2019t hiccup immediately after saying it. \u201cAnd I<\/p>\n wasn\u2019t going to drive.\u201d<\/p>\n He tilts his head and a piece of soft brown hair falls forward, curling over his forehead. My brain immediately sides with Team Hug It Out.<\/p>\n
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