“What was your excuse?”
“I said that I forgot it was my nana’s funeral and that I had to go.”
I stared at him.
“Don’t worry,” Leo said, wide-eyed. “My nana wouldn’t mind me using her as an excuse.”
“So you rowed back to shore, then ran to an imaginary funeral?”
“Yes. But we were way down the river, so I had to row back against the flow of the river, and it took me forever, and my arms were burning. The girl was quiet the whole time. She didn’t even give me her condolences.” Leo rubbed the side of his face. “Now that I think about it, she probably didn’t believe me.”
I let out a choke of laughter. “That’s a possibility,” I said.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“How could you not know it was a date?” I asked.
“She didn’t use the word ‘date’. She said that she just wanted to hang out. I thought we were friends.”
I laughed again.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Leo said, knocking my ankle with his foot.
“You’re kind of innocent, aren’t you?” I said.
Leo went quiet, but his face was pinker than usual. He fiddled with his glass as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He turned it over to read the minuscule text on the bottom, which probably said something like, ‘dishwasher safe’. A few remnants of water left in the cup dribbled onto his lap. Hastily, he rubbed the wet spots for a few seconds, then suddenly stopped.
“Leo?” I asked softly.
He stiffened, eyes slowly meeting mine. “Yeah?”
“Why’d you come here?” I asked.
He looked around my small, cheap apartment as if searching for inspiration. Finally, he met my eyes.
“I was afraid you’d go home with him,” he admitted.
I took a few seconds to form my response, deciding whether to start with being touched or offended. “Why do you think I would do that?”
“You said yourself he looks like a model.”
“I already told you that just because he’s conventionally attractive doesn’t mean I like him. Besides,” my tone sharpened, “even if I did go home with him, what does that have to do with you?”
“Just…because I’m your wingman—”
“Oh my god, you think I’m a total slut!” I interrupted.
His eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. “What? No.”
“Okay, maybe I am. I can’t be mad at you for jumping to that conclusion because I have talked about sex with you a lot, and yes, I did go home with you after our fake date.”
“That’s not what I — ”
“But I don’t need you to chaperone me like I’m some teenage girl in the 1800s,” I said. “I wasn’t going to sleep with him, and even if I was, what’s it to you?”
“W-well,” he stuttered. “He’ll want you more if you play hard to get.”
“Right, what revolutionary dating advice. Where’d you learn that? From your extensive dating experience?”
