“You ghosted that one guy because he said ‘sup’ instead of ‘hey,’” I reminded her.
“Because I’m not dating a man who can’t commit to fully formed words.” She dug into the ice cream. “Also because he asked me on a second date while I was still on the first. Stage five clinger. Hard pass.”
I stretched out, propping my feet on her coffee table. “You know your standards are, like, sky-high and underground at the same time, right?”
“Correct again. I accept only two types of men: completely unavailable, or hot and emotionally uncomplicated and gone in three to five business days.” She tapped her spoon against her chin. “Which is why Beau is your problem, not mine. My heart would actually explode if someone looked at me the way he looks at you.”
“How does he look at me?” I asked, even though I knew. I just wanted to hear it.
Cassie paused the Netflix rom-com she’d queued up and turned to me. “Like you’re the answer to a question that’s been driving him crazy his entire life,” she said simply. “Like he just realized the universe isn’t actually in Dallas, it’s in your barn.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “He’s intense,” I agreed. “He’s trying so hard to be this ranch guy, but he still spins out about his dad and the board and money. I think he’s more scared than I am.”
“You’re both scared, you’re just scared of different things.” She waved the spoon at me. “He’s scared of staying. You’re scared of him leaving. I,” she added, “am scared of a man wanting brunchtwo weekends in a row.”
I laughed. “God forbid someone remembers your coffee order.”
“Exactly. That’s how they get you. First it’s oat milk, then it’s ‘meet my mother’ and suddenly I’m planning a joint Costco membership.” She shuddered theatrically. “I am a free-range chaos raccoon. I do not thrive in captivity.”
“You literally alphabetize your spice rack.”
“Emotional captivity, Win. Keep up.”
We fell into a comfortable rhythm: commenting on the movie’s terrible dialogue, pausing to dissect Beau’s hands, and occasionally roasting Cassie’s dating history.
“So what about you?” I asked when the male lead did something particularly dumb on-screen. “You talk all this shit about me ‘keeping’ Beau. What about Mr. ‘I drive a Tacoma and do CrossFit’ from last month? He was nice. Hot. Gainfully employed. You bailed on date three.”
She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “He asked me what my five-year plan was.”
“That’s… a normal question?”
“Not on date three while I’m eating nachos.” She peeked at me. “He said the words ‘shared life trajectory.’ I hadn’t even seen his dick yet. Let me at least see the goods before we map out our retirement.”
I snorted my wine cooler. “You’re allergic to commitment.”
“Damn right I am,” she said cheerfully. “My parents were a masterclass in how not to do marriage. Yours too, in their own tragic way. You think I’m gonna sprint toward that? No thanks. I’ll take situationships and orgasms without joint tax returns, please.”
I went quiet for a beat, tracing the condensation on my bottle. “I don’t want marriage right now,” I said slowly. “I just… don’t want to be the only one who cares more. Again.”
Cassie nudged my shoulder with hers. “Then make him show up,” she said. “Don’t fall for potential. Make sure he’s actually doing the shit. You’re not asking for a ring—you’re asking him not to treat you like a summer elective.”
“Summer elective with good tits,” I added dryly.
“Thebesttits,” she corrected. “Look, commitment freaks me out, yeah. But even I can see it: that boy is down bad. Board meeting, trustfunds, daddy issues—and he still chooses to get hard for you in the middle of a workday. That’s devotion.”
I burst out laughing. “Beautiful. Put that on a Hallmark card.”
We took a break from the heavy stuff to do karaoke, because apparently the night needed more chaos. She dragged out the ancient machine, cued up Shania, and we screamed “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” at the top of our lungs until my voice cracked.wikipedia+1
By midnight, we were sprawled on her bed, crumbs everywhere, makeup smeared, stomachs aching from laughter.
“Okay, serious hour,” Cassie said, poking my cheek. “What actually scares you about Beau? Besides the dick, obviously.”
I stared at the ceiling. “That he’ll choose Dallas. That he’ll decide I’m just this… hot ranch phase,” I admitted. “That he’ll go back to his life and I’ll be here with the horses and the bills and this… crater where he used to be.”
“And if he doesn’t?” she asked softly. “If he chooses you and the ranch and the terrifying thing called a ‘future’?”
“Then I’m scared of how much I want that,” I said, voice small. “I don’t… do this. I don’t hand people the power to wreck me. You know that. You’re the only person I’ve ever really let all the way in.”
