A loud sound escapes me—a mix between a snort and a scoff. I finish squeezing limes and wash my hands. I’m still far behind her, but I’m on my third drink, and the alcohol has me feeling warm and bold. “He may be nice and charming, but he makes the creepiest comments about me needing to ‘get back on the horse’ and he’s biphobic.”
“Oh, my god. No, he’s not!”
I stare at her.
She sighs. “Fine, yes, he’s ignorant. But he’s learning.”
“You deserve better.”
“It doesn’t matter. Things with him aren’t serious.” She picks at her nail. “He makes me laugh. He’s always down for last-minute adventures, and he does amazing things with his tongue.”
“Gross.”
She throws a lime slice at me, and I duck, laughing. “Shut up. You act like you haven’t told me about your and Nina’s sex life in way too vivid detail for years.”
A blush creeps up my cheek as an ache spreads through my chest.
“Speaking of,” she says. “I am sorry Marcus is making comments about you dating again.”
“That would be fine. It’s the comments about how I need to sleep with someone again.”
“Wait. What?”
I sigh. He only made the comments once. The three of us went bar hopping, and, while Casey was grabbing us another round, his sloppy ass started asking me about my type. All while pointing at random women around us in the crowded bar.
“He was trying to set me up at BB’s, and I kept telling him to knock it off. So he was alllike ‘Come on, Dakot-y, you’ve hooked up since your Wicked Witch of the West ex, right?’”
“Ew.” Casey cringes. “Also, he doesn’t sound like that.”
I shrug. In my head, he totally sounds like a douche frat boy.
“Okay, he does when he’s drunk,” Casey concedes.
“Exactly.” We both laugh. “But, yeah,” I say. “Then he wouldn’t let up about how I need to sleep with someone new, and that it’s the best way to get over someone.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” Casey finishes pouring my drink and slides it to me. “That’s super inappropriate of him. How come you didn’t tell me?”
“He was wasted.” I sigh. “Things between you were new, and you seemed happy. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“I kind of wish you did,” she says so softly, I almost don’t hear it. Before I can respond, the air fryer beeps, and the conversation is forgotten as Casey excitedly cheers for “chicken tendies!”
I finish two more mojitos while forcing Casey to switch to water until I can catch up. We argue over who should win this season’sSurvivor,and I’m grateful for the topic change away from our exes.
“Want to go on the lake?” Casey asks as she collects our trash.
“You may be sobering up, but I don’t trust you to drive.”
Casey snickers. “Not on the boat. We can take the kayaks out.”
I’ve had enough to drink that I doubt my motor functioning skills, but I’m drunk enough to say, “Yeah, fuck it! Let’s go!”
Lake Blue Skies is a massive circle with limited public access. There are two dozen houses scattered around its circumference. It’s a beautiful evening, and the water ispacked with boats and kayakers. Families are outside in their backyards. Casey waves often and exchanges pleasantries with half of them.
The sun is warm on my skin, and we glide lazily through the water on our respective sit-on-top kayaks. Another boat passes and waves gently rock us before they lap against the shore. I’m thankful we’re sticking to the shallow water, since a stupid drowning accident is definitely not on my bingo card.
“Ooh, looks like the Lewises are in town.”
“Who?” I ask.
