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“I’m serious. Even if you claim there was nothing more than a few blowjobs between the two of you, he hurt you with what he said to you and about you.”

And that was exactly what I didn’t want to admit. How pathetic was it to let a loser like him get me down?

“This isn’t about Dick III. But . . . I met someone.”

“At the resort?” Nash asked.

I glanced at the door because I wanted to make sure Ruben wasn’t suddenly standing there. “No. I mean, kind of, yes.”

“What is it with you and these snobs? You hang out with the coolest, most laid-back people, and you always fall in love with weird guys who couldn’t be more different from you.”

“That’s not it, and who said anything about falling in love?”

“I am,” my brother interjected. “I’m saying something about being in love. Because if you just need someone for sex, you can handle it and don’t tell me about it. It’s only when feelings come into play that you suddenly get overwhelmed.”

“Ha, ha. I’m not in love.” At least, that’s what I thought.

Nash wasn’t listening to me. “Stay away from these guys. Find someone who accepts you for who you are. Not someone who tells you that you have to change yourself to meet his stupid standards.”

“He didn’t say that!” I protested. And at that moment, I wasn’t trying to convince Nash. Ruben had never said anything against my lifestyle. “On the contrary—he supports what I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Even if he didn’t say it out loud, at times I assumed that’s what he thought.”

My brother groaned loudly. “Assumed what? What does that mean?”

I ran my hand over my face. “Nothing. I’m being oversensitive.”

“But that’s exactly what I mean,” Nash says. “You’re not being overly sensitive. You don’t let people string you along. You speak your mind because it makes your life easier. For many people, that directness is difficult. But why are you letting this guy lead you on?”

“Ruben isn’t doing that. I just don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“Then ask him!”

“Sure. But I can’t force him to reply,” I muttered to myself. “So far, he’s been cleverly avoiding those answers.”

“Or you’re not asking the right questions,” Nash continued.

“Pfft. Is it the student’s fault, Teacher?”

Nash laughed out loud. “Don’t be such a wimp! What are you afraid of?”

Good question. “That I’ll get an answer I hate.”

“Still better than constantly groping in the dark, right?”

“I guess,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Then tell me about him.” At the other end of the line, Nash chewed on something.

I grinned. “No. I’m going to think about your wise words and then make a decision. And then . . . ”

“Oh! We’re coming the week after Thanksgiving. We could meet him then!”

“No!” I said automatically. “No. I’m not going to scare him off right away if he decides to choose me.”

After we ended the conversation, in my head I replayed what Nash said. Who was I to Ruben?