“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re still same ol’ Jo—always going for guys who are total dicks.”
She looks confused. “I thought you and Jamie were friends.”
“We can be friends and me still not think he has a single clue on how to treat a woman.”
“And you know how to treat a woman?” She questions.
“I don’t see how many of them I can notch onto my bedpost.”
“Oh, yeah? So, what’s Christie? A loving relationship?”
“You first,” I say. “What’s Jamie?”
“Jamie is a friend that I agreed to hang out with tonight. I’m not sleeping with him like you are with Christie.”
“What do you care if I’m sleeping with Christie?”
“I just don’t think it’s right.”
I laugh. “You’ve got a lot of nerve talking about what’s right.”
“So, are you in some sort of relationship with Christie?”
“Are you in some sort of relationship with Jamie?”
“No,” she answers without hesitation, but I don’t believe her.
“Then, why are you here with him?”
“Why are you here with Christie?”
“Do you always answer a question with a question?”
“Do you?”
We locked in a battle of wits—or lack thereof—and I can’t take anymore.
“Jo, while I would love to stand here and argue all night, I’m not going to do this.” A little lower, I add, “I can’t keep doing any of this.”
“Can’t keep doing any of what?”
I don’t answer but instead just walk away. I figure she will follow me. Jo is like a dog with a fucking bone.
But she doesn’t.
The only one who follows me is Christie.
“Beau, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just not feeling very well. I’m sorry, Christie. I think I’m just going to head home.”
I lean in to kiss her on the cheek before starting to walk away.
She calls after me, "It’s Jo, isn’t it?”
I turn around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
