Page 84 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
With a sigh, I sink back into the chair. “Yeah, but sex is a social activity and I’m on hiatus from socializing.”
“Grindr.” Jason waggles his phone, showing me the app on his home screen. “You don’t have to say a word to anyone.”
I give him a dead-eyed stare. “I know how Grindr works, thank you.”
“Or you and me could hit The Lazy Hammock—the new gay bar that opened a few blocks away,” Jason offers.
“I want to go too,” Nolan says, like a puppy dog. Then tilts his head. “Do you think anyone would hit on me?”
I roll my eyes. “You give off straight vibes. No offense.”
“None taken. I am straight. But I still want to go and cheer you on,” Nolan says.
I love my friends, truly. But this is not gonna happen. “Guys, I appreciate this. But I can’t handle a pity fuck right now, and that’s all it would be. Iwillget recognized at The Lazy Hammock as that romance writer who was dumped on TV. People at coffee shops recognize me. Dudes on the subway check me out. But not for me—because they hate what Flynn did to me. Let me show you.” I whip out my phone and click on my Instagram DMs. “I don’t kiss and tell either. So, if you let me kiss your dick, I’ll keep it a secret.”
Jason laughs, but I think he’s embarrassed for the sender.
“Or how about the guy at the gym who, while I was on the treadmill, said, ‘Fuck Flynn. Fuck me instead’?”
Nolan reaches across the table to pat my shoulder sympathetically. “You win. Thatdoessuck.”
“I’m going to stay off the radar for a little while longer,” I say as Hazel returns and flops into the seat next to me.
“Any luck?” she asks our friends.
“We tried valiantly,” Jason says. “But no dice.”
“Your efforts to get me laid are noted. And they do not go unappreciated,” I say. “But listen, why don’t we all play pinball and get pizza and enjoy the hell out of the McKay brothers being in town? How about that? Let’s just have a Friends in New York weekend.”
Hazel twirls a strand of red hair. “Can we still please go shopping for my date tomorrow?”
“Yes, take me thrifting, Hazel,” I tell my friend, and I vow that will be the start of me moving the fuck on from the chicken guy.
Then, I order a cheese and mushroom pizza for dinner.
The next afternoon, I meet Hazel at a consignment shop in the Village. Our good friend Jo is there too, and the ladies grab dresses so fast I can’t see what they picked.
“I need to know if this makes my butt look good, great, or super-hot,” Hazel says, rushing into the dressing room.
A minute later, she steps out, modeling a Pepto-Bismol pink dress with lime-green polka dots.
Is she for real? I look to Jo for a clue. Her blue eyes saywhat the hell,but aloud she says, “Your butt looks good.” Jo always was the nice one.
Fuck diplomacy. “Hazel, your ass looks great. But that dress needs to go unless you’re planning to peddle hand jobs on the street corners of Candyland,” I say.
Hazel marches over to me, slams her hands on my pecs. “I was right!”
“About the dress?” I ask, confused.
“About your need to thrift. Your sarcasm is, like, ten times stronger than it was yesterday.”
“Maybe TJ’s starting to get his groove back,” Jo says suggestively.
“See? Doing your favorite things is like giving you an injection,” Hazel says. “Maybe you need other injections too?”
Ugh. Not again.Shaking my head in amusement, I point to the racks. “Focus, ladies. Hazel has a date. Pigs are flying.”
My friend swats me. “You dick.”