"The thing you call a cat."
"A feline? No it wasn't about that."
"No-a body part that starts with p?"
"A penis?"
"You know what I'm saying."
"They why not just say it?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Prude."
"No, that's not the word."
"I mean you're a prude. You're prissy with a proclivity for make-believe. Have you ever been properly fucked?"
My mouth gaped. "That's not an appropriate question."
"Here's the thing, Billie, you can't complain about how hot it is and hang around the fire at the same time."
"In this analogy, are you the fire?"
"Guess I am."
"Well then, let me assure I am not a stupid moth. You don't scare me. Maybe this works for other girls, but I have no problems dousing any flames."
"You sure about that?"
I took some water in my palm and flicked the drops at him. He flinched, holding his hands up.
"What the fuck was that?"
"I wanted to demonstrate my skills. Evan, I'm not looking to be some fling. That's not me."
"Shut up. You totally want me."
"Yeah I do." The look of shock on his face was perfect. "I admitted it just now, didn't I? You're a super-hot, motorcycle-riding, tattoo-clad bad boy with the perfect amount of charm and manners. You would be the ideal rebound for me, but it's not going to happen."
"Why?"
"Because you're dangerous and I have a strong sense of self-preservation. But I think we can be friends, if you're up for that."
"That's right. You're the girl who knows what she wants. Here's the thing, Billie. I don't have many friends. Just Mike and Tilla."
"What you did for me tonight proves otherwise. Three is a good number, don't you think?"
He considered it for a moment. "It's a great number."
Chapter Five
I spent the next week in Marley's ode to House Beautiful kitchen in my favorite pink pajamas, listening to Joni Mitchell's soothing voice, scrolling through want ads and reveling in sweetness of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey to drown out my own bitter mood.
I replayed the strange night with Evan Wright. Even though I'd put up a strong front, my feelings were muddled around him-and it wasn't just the alcohol. I'd decided that a little bit of distance would be good, so I was staying away. Unfortunately, the space just heightened my overall depression. But in the end, distance equaled perspective-at least that's what I thought.
It didn't take long for Stevie, Marley and Dillon to hold an intervention.
"Enough," Stevie said, taking the spoon away from me mid-bite.
"What are you doing?" I demanded. "I need that."
"You need to get a hold of yourself." She flung the spoon in the sink and took a hold of my shoulders. "Look at you. You've been wearing the same clothes for three days and you have a spaghetti sauce stain on your crotch."
I stood up. "This isn't spaghetti sauce, for your information."
Their faces broke out with expressions of horror followed by a disgusting symphony of simultaneous gagging sounds.
"Relax. It's tomato soup." I gestured to the laptop. "I'm looking for a job. I need to find one."
"Actually, you don't have to look anymore. Rick's assistant is getting divorced. Isn't that great?"
"Do you think someone else's misery is going to cheer me up?" I asked.
"No, what I mean is, she's moving to Ireland where her folks live. The position is open. I talked to Rick and it's yours."
"I don't know. Working for family could turn out very bad. It's exactly the reason I didn't accept Damien's offer to work in one of his hotels."
"This is different," Marley insisted. "You can work from home and you'd be reporting right to Rick. He's a great boss." She winked at me. "I should know."
"What would I do?"
"You'd make his appointments, create presentations, prepare spreadsheets and book his reservations. I can show you."
"Marley-"
"Let me do this for you, Billie.
I looked at her, then at all three of them. They were worried about me, just like my mom.
"Thank you," I said, embracing her.
Dillon clapped his hands. "Now that that's done, let's move to a bigger issue."
"What's that?"
"Your hair. I can't be looking at that mullet any longer. It's offending me on many levels."
"You want to give me a haircut, Dills?"
He cracked his knuckles. "I thought you'd never ask."
"We're going to Damien's benefit dinner tonight," Stevie said, moving the chair to the center of the room.
"I'm not going."
"C'mon, you have to get out there again."
"It's only been a week."
"That's long enough. Preston doesn't deserve your mourning."
"I'm not mourning him. I just don't feel very pretty right now."
"Good thing you have me then," Dillon said, combing through my hair. "Mood music, Marley," he said, wetting my hair with a spray bottle.
I don't know if Marley had made a break-up playlist just for me, but every song was about survival and moving on with your life. It worked though, because even as much as I protested, my lips began mouthing the words anyway.
Stevie put a brownie in front of me. I knew what that meant. "Let's dish."
I took a piece of the brownie but hesitated before eating it. "Did Mom make these?"
Stevie laughed. "No, I did." Mom had a tendency to sneak vegetables-or, even worse, beans-in her desserts.
"Do you miss him?"
"Preston? Yeah, I guess so. I know we didn't have this crazy romance or anything, but I thought it was worthy of something more."
"Don't feel bad for feeling … bad."
My laughter, tinged with hysteria, died off suddenly. "I think you guys were right. I see things not as they are, but as I want them to be."
"That's because you're compassionate," Marley said, taking my hand. "It's not a bad thing. When the rest of us manage to have these impenetrable shields around our hearts, you … you give all of yourself."
"Thanks, Marley, but that doesn't help. You've all found these awesome men that would go to the ends of the earth for you. And me, I keep falling for these losers. Maybe I should protect myself more. There were signs with Preston but I ignored them."
"Everyone does that," Dillon said.
Marley cleared her throat. "Speaking of signs, have you given any more thought to going out with Josh, Dillon?"
"That was a horrible transition, kid."
"Who's Josh?" I asked.
"Some guy Marley wants to set me up with. I'm not interested."
"You won't even give him a chance?" Stevie asked.
"Set-ups never work out."
"He's really cute, Dills. He works out and-"
"Thanks, but I'm super picky, in case you haven't noticed."
"It's hard not to notice," Stevie quipped. "You wash your car."
"That's not weird," I said.
"It is if you do it every day," Stevie said. "Not to mention, he washes his car keys too."
"Yeah, she has you there, Dills."
"Josh is very clean too. His desk is always impeccable at work," Marley offered.
Dillon huffed. "How many times a day does he shower?"
"That's not really a question I thought to ask, but I'm sure he showers once a day like a normal person. How many times do you shower, Dillon?"
"Not a crazy amount. Once in the morning, once at night and after sex."
"I guess that's not so bad," Marley said.
"Yeah, just four to five times a day."
"What?" Marley gasped. "You can't be serious."
"I didn't have sex for a long time. I'm making up for it."
"Wow, Dills, no wonder you seem so chipper lately," Stevie said.
"Sex equals happiness?" I asked.
"Not necessarily, but it does stimulate a good mood," Stevie answered as if she was an expert.
Marley put her hands on her hips. "So you're just fucking random men, Dills?"
He sighed. "We have an understanding."
"You got yourself a rotation, Dills?" Marley asked with a sharpness I wasn't expecting.
"Let's talk about Billie again. I liked it when we were trying to solve her problems."
"Why won't you try with Josh? I think you guys are perfect for each other."
"How many gay men do you know, Marley?"
"Lots," she answered.
"On a personal level."
"A few."
"How many are single?"
She swallowed. "Two."
"Me and him, right?"
She nodded.
"Just because you know two gay people doesn't mean they are right for each other."