—and delete.
There aren’t any reasons other than head trauma that could make me like him.
I mean, I had sex with him ... and not just sex. I literally remember every minute. If only his personality matched his skill level. He’d be unstoppable in this world, like Pedro Pascal winking at any camera.
Instead, he’s more like accidentally buying milk after the expiration date—it looks fine until it makes you sick.
There’s no way I don’t regret being the nice sister. No way. I type one last text before I commit myself to trying to forget how my new life in LA is now tainted by a taint.
Me:Go do some more French shit. I’m adulting.
Golds:It’s almost midnight. I’m just spamming you with photos from earlier. But thank you for agreeing. He’s actually pretty great when you give him a chance.
Then you date him.
Oh my god. Wait a minute. Back it up. That is not what she said or asked. Why did I just think that? What is wrong with me?
My shoulders pull to my ears as I physically cringe.
This is going to be the longest month of my life. It’ll literally take years off.
“Shit. How am I realistically going to do this?” I say aloud, hearing them both answer with anMmhmmbefore I continue. “How can I be nice to the guy who, when we first met, gave an entire soliloquy about how the pinnacle of women’s beauty began in 1967 and how it’s all beendownhill ever since? He literally insulted every woman in the room and did it all while stuffing his dumb face with his own homemade tzatziki.”
The image of him shoveling a piece of pita into his mouth before licking his fingers is suddenly summoned into my mind. And unfortunately for me, it’s zoomed in to where his mouth met his thumb ... Also, sadly, it’s running in slow motion.
Fuck.
The moment I think it, my phone dings, and I swear I almost toss it across the room.
Golds:Please take in the beauty of this countryside, and also remember (just in case you’re starting to regret your decision) fighting in front of the baby is unhealthy.
“You have kids together?” Derek blurts, but I shake my head and glance back, watching them try to pretend they weren’t reading over my shoulder.
Me:Your baby licks her own ass. I think we’re past unhealthy environments.
Golds:Evie! You dare speak ill of my child?
“What the fuck? Babies do that?” Devin whispers.
Me:Frankly, your child is a traitor, because the minute he moved in, she slept in his room.
Golds:Cats are a good judge of character.
“Oh shit, it’s a cat, dude,” Derek whispers back.
Me:Perhaps she was dropped at birth?
Golds:No, mom said you were tho.
Look at her making a funny joke. I’ll let her have it since it’s so rare.
Me:You know you’re going to owe me a suitcase full of Hermes as payment for this atrocity.
When I turn around, the boys jump back, guilty-as-charged smiles all over their faces like two little snooping Sallys. They really are like puppies.
Devin grins, not even pretending. “Why do you hate him so much? What did he do? It can’t just be because he loves women from the sixties?”
That question makes my eye twitch. “I already said he’s a man-child. He says and does everything wrong. That’s not enough?”
