Katie stared at me. “There’s always going to be a local boy or man or whatever in the way, Tyler. It’s really outdated you think she can’t explore her sexuality or have a bit of fun, even if this guy’s not the one. She’s mid-cycle. It’s been stressful. Her parents are being awful again. What was she supposed to do? Put one of those chrome showerheads between her—”
“What the hell is going on in here!” Lola. Not pleased. “I can hear you guys from the register! Other people pay to spend time in this establishment!”
I was panting. Katie’s dress had somehow gotten, like, three inches shorter in the past two minutes. I could not with this girl. She was fucking with me. The clothes. The hair. The landscape architect.
“Tyler’s having a bad day,” Katie said, so cooly I wanted to pin her against a wall, clamp my hand over her mouth, make her—
“I can see that,” Lola said.
“Willa’s just out there, giving herself away!” I was out of breath, and I’d wrung the hem of my shirt in my hands. Lola looked at me like I was from another planet.
“He’s upset,” Katie explained, “because Willa kissed a vendor.”
“There was heavy petting! Do not minimize this!”
“Interesting,” Lola said. “And was there penetration?”
We both shook our heads no.
“I think that’s par for the course, then. For a boring straight girl, anyway. I’m Team Willa.”
Katie scoffed. “Even if there was a side character inside of her,” she said, and now I was officially experiencing heat stroke. “She’s not betrothed to anyone. Willa has every right to get fucked six ways from Sunday. She’s single. She’s, like, twenty-four. Henry’s been a fuckboy his whole life—it’s right in his character description! Nobody’s mad at him! It’s such a double standard! What, do you think she should just sit around with her legs closed, waiting for Henry to make a move?”
I howled. “Yes!”
“This is ridiculous,” Lola said.
“I know!” I said.
“No, Tyler. You. This. Men, in general.”
And then she reminded us to shut the fuck up, grabbed a sleeve of cold cups, and closed the door. All of a sudden, the closet was completely silent—and obscenely small. Katie was maybe two feet away, standing there next to a towering stack of cardboard boxes, inspecting a sticky note that had fallen to the floor.
“Your, uh... your dress,” I said.
“Huh?”
I rubbed my throat. “Your dress is, like, up.”
“Oh.” She tugged the skirt back down. “Sorry.”
My hands were, somehow, tangled in my hair. “Anytime.”
17
Katie
I met Danny at a sushi bar in Bryant Park after work, blotting my just-glossed lips as I walked through the sleek door—black oak, a slit for a window, and everything on the other side of it dark, smooth, and clean.
“Hey,” he said as I collapsed onto the stool next to him. He kissed me, then ordered us a round of sake.
“Hey,” I said.
“You look...”
“Insane? Like an extra from a Beyoncé video? Like a vaguely skanky circus performer?”
Danny tilted his head. “I was going to say cute.”
