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I take another drink and let the beer sit cold-ish and bitter on my tongue.

“You still collabing with that one guy?” I ask.

“Nah.” He leans back on the row behind him, spreading his knees, disc resting against one thigh. “Dude wanted to take it too far.”

I lift my eyebrows. “What’s too far? You were already getting off with him on camera.”

“Yeah, but tasteful.”

“Sure.”

“Classy.”

“That’s cute.”

He shrugs and spreads his palms. “Hand stuff only.”

I stare at him.

“What?” he says.

“A month ago, you said hand stuff was too far.”

“No, no. A month ago, hand stuff plus eye contact was too far.”

“Oh my God.”

“Side-by-side is different. It’s, like, parallel.”

“But your hands are crisscrossed.” I point the tip of my beer at him. “And full of another guy’s dick.”

He points his beer right back at me. “You joke, but mutual hand stuff gets a lot of guys through college.”

I laugh again, but it fades fast.

Zane notices. He pretends not to for a hot moment, which for him is impressive.

“How’re your shows going?”

I pick at the label on my beer bottle.

“Not so great now that I’m back in my mom’s basement.”

His head turns. “Full back?”

“Back back.”

“What happened?”

I shrug.

“Same thing that always happens, I guess. Becca got sick of my shit. We both got sick of pretending.”

Zane whistles low. “Damn. Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?”