Leo holds his hands up apologetically. “Sorry, man, sorry. I take that back. Yes, there are good dudes out there who make a perfectly acceptable living wage. And obviously you’re great, and I love you, and you’re one of them. But it’s not like you’re going to date my sister.”
“Nope,” I say, the back of my neck prickling.
“Sorry again. But just keep an eye out for her, will you? Especially when you’re in New Orleans?”
“Will do,” I tell him, but I am already distracted by the blonde I spotted earlier and her friend walking up to us.
I look at the blonde girl and turn on the Dimple. “Hey,” I tell her. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Again?” she asks, her slicked back ponytail fluttering behind her in a familiar way.I’d like to wrap that around my hand.
“Yeah,” I respond. “Don’t you remember? We went out, had some drinks, went back to my place, had a great time?”
“When was this?” she asks, confused.
I grin. “Tonight.”
The next morning, I walk out to the kitchen, where Mia has already poured me a coffee. She hands it to me in my favorite mug.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
“You’ve always had a type,” Mia informs me.
I freeze, cup halfway to my mouth. I slowly place it back down. “Huh,” I grunt, nonsensically. Not a question, not a statement, just a noise.
She tilts her head, looking at me intensely with her crazy blue eyes. “Long blonde hair. Small. Hot.”
I watch her closely, searching her face for any sort of realization that she’s just described herself. “I… guess.”
This is all I can say because I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that I didn’t bring that girl home last night. Because of what Mia just said. Because at one point, the two of them were standing next to one another, ordering drinks at the bar, their backs to me… and I couldn’t tell them apart. They were the same height. Same build. Same hair worn in the same way. And then… I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t follow through. I went home alone and all sorts of horny and really fucking confused about the fact that ‘women who look like Mia’ has been my type all along.
She sighs. “I need to get laid.”
I gurgle a sound of simultaneous relief and dismay.
“I want to text that guy. The one from the bar in Wildwood that you and Leo bullied.”
“That soft looking emo kid?” I scoff.
She shrugs. “He was hot.” She pauses, thinking. She’s upset. “I’m so fucking bad at doing all of it, though.”
“All of what?”
“Like,” she waves her hands in the air, gesturing at everything and nothing.
“Like… the stove? Cooking?
“Like,men,” she finally says. I shift in my seat. “I’m so bad at the whole thing. Flirting, texting, dating.” She looks at me, outraged. “I haven’t been fucked in two years, Elias!”
I die a slow and painful death. I try to make myself as small as possible. I close my eyes and hope to disappear. I do all of these things at once. “This is too much for nine o’clock in the morning, Meems.”
“That’s easy for you to say! You just got fucked a few hours ago! And I’m sure all you had to do was swagger over to her in the bar and show her your stupid fucking Dimple?—”
“Actually,sheapproachedme,” I mutter. “And I didn’t?—”
“—because you’re all,you—,” she says, furiously gesturing at my body.
I look down and remember I’m only wearing my boxers.
