Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Wow. Okay. Someone’s direct. “Which one?”
“The big one,” Jason puts in, an intense stare in his eyes like he probably gives when he’s about to take the snap on any given Sunday during football season.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I say. “Do you mean the fact that all of New York knows I’m radioactive? That my publisher wants me to start my next book and has a hundred-thousand-print run already slated for it? That I love my privacy almost as much as I love sex and pizza, but I only have one of those three things now? Or that I wake up each day feeling like a complete and utter fool for dating the World’s Meanest Man who makes the most average chicken in the city?”
Nolan smiles sympathetically. “All of the above.”
Jason leans closer. “But I have the solution. There’s a time-honored tradition when it comes to getting dumped. You need to get back on the saddle, my man.”
I shudder. “I’d rather drink turpentine. No way am I dating again,” I say, setting down the glass with a loud clack.
“Ever?” Nolan asks, arching a brow above his eyeglasses.
I consider that question. Then consider the number of views on the video. “Sounds about right.”
“Dude,” Jason says, calmly, “no one suggested a date. You’re constantly one step ahead of everyone else, telling us how things would play out in a story. What’s next in your story?”
“A Kevlar vest? I think I might pick one up at the armory on my way home. Protection from any post-breakup shrapnel.”
Nolan cuts in. “Listen, I’ve been friends with you since college—more than ten years. I’ve always been direct with you. So, let me spell this out in no uncertain terms.” He cups his hands around his mouth, making a megaphone. “You need to get your dick wet.”
But dicks are usually attached to dudes who kick you in the balls on TV.
“Pass,” I say.
Jason’s eyes pop out. Like, they might hit the floor. “Do you like sex?”
“Obviously. It’s only the greatest thing ever invented. But pizza’s close, so I’ll keep sublimating with that, thanks.”
“Don’t you have a craving for something other than a cheese and mushroom pie?” Jason asks.
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. I will get 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. That does suck.”
“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.