Page 23 of Sweeter Than Fiction

“Deal.”

“Do you have any water?” He asks, standing up.

“There should be some in the fridge.”

I pull a blanket off the back of the couch and get a little cozier when I hear, “Uhm, Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is there beer in your fridge? You never drink beer. And there’s pizza! With real cheese? What in God’s name is going on here?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, trying to buy myself some time to think of another excuse.

Any other excuse.

“Abigal Jones, I know you would never go out of your way to buy beer. I also know that your stomach has an extreme prejudice towards dairy. Your pizza always has to have special cheese.”

“Maybe I changed? Maybe I’m trying new things? Maybe I’m a masochist who likes having an upset stomach?”

“Maybe you’re full of shit, buttercup. Spill it. Who’s the guy?”

“Guy?

“What are you? A fucking parrot?”

I hold my hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright. I’ve been hanging out with my neighbor.”

He looks extremely confused. “The old guy who walks down to get his mail in his bathrobe? Are you that lonely, Abby?”

“Ew! Not him! The neighbor on the other side. Don.”

I can practically see his wheels turning until it finally dawns on him.

“The hottie? You’ve been hanging out with that stud?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before going on. “Oh my gosh! Tell me everything! How is he in the sack? Is he hung like a horse?”

“Slow down, Tanto. Nothing has happened. It’s not like that.”

“I’m confused.”

“We are just friends. He saw me crying after the terrible date and came to check on me. We had a good time and decided to just hang out more often. We get takeout and talk and watch Gilmore Girls.”

“Hold up,” he interrupts. “This man came to check on you? And now, he comes over to watch Gilmore Girls? And he’s not trying to sleep with you?”

“Is that weird?” I ask although I already know the answer.

“Honey, we are so far past weird that we can’t even see it in the rearview mirror. The oddest part of all is why you aren’t trying to sleep with him.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask. “Have you seen that man? He’s way out of my league. We are having fun just as friends.”

“Do you think maybe he wants it to be more?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Picking at the lid of my cup, I reply, “Because I’m not that girl. This isn’t a romance book. We’re friends. Nothing more. Eventually, he’ll find some leggy model to settle down with, and I’ll find my own weirdo.”

“Have you considered friends with benefits?”

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