“We didn’t…” I tried to protest, but it was a lost cause. The words came out halfhearted.
“Enough about what you didn’t do. Whatdidyou do? Tell me everything. Is he big? You take one look at that man and know he’s good in bed. Tell me.”
I took a huge sip of my drink to avoid speaking.
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Oh my fucking God. He’s dirty, isn’t he?”
“I’m not talking about this.”
“You have to. I need to know if he does that thing with his hands. Iknowhe does that thing with his hands.”
“He does a lot of things with his hands,” I muttered before realizing it had escaped aloud.
Rachel shrieked. “Ellie! You’re in love with the football player.”
“I amnot.”
“Holy fuck,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You’re going to marry him. I can feel it.”
“Please stop. I’m already having an identity crisis.”
“Bitch, you’re spiraling in a sparkly dress. This is exactly what your twenties are for.”
“Why did I agree to come out again?”
“Because you love me, duh! You should text him.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why the fuck not?” she asked.
“Because we…did stuff. And then I was like, ‘Hey, let’s maybe not do stuff anymore?’ And now it’s—ugh, weird and awkward and I hate everything.”
“Jesus,” she groaned. “Just text him. Say hi. You don’t have to propose.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do I have to?”
“I’ll leave you alone about publicist things for a whole month.”
“A full month?”
“Well, like...three weeks. Ish. I’ll try really hard.”
“Fine.”
I pulled out my phone and sent him a quick message.
Hi
I turned the screen so she could see it then chucked it back in my bag.
“Hi? Hi! That’s it?” Rachel gaped. “You had full creative freedom, and you went with ‘hi’? Not even a ‘hey, big man, can’t stop thinking about your cock’?”
“You told me to say hi. And I didn’t even see his dick this time!”
Her jaw dropped. “What? This time? There was another?”
“No.”
