Page 43 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

I choke out a laugh. “Ramona! You’re still married to him and madly in love. It’s hardly the same.”

“Madly in love, my ass. I told you he ate my Chinese leftovers!”

“You’re still mad at me about that?” Amir appears around the corner dressed in shorts and a form-fitting T-shirt. What is it with all these men and their pectorals on display?

Ramona purses her lips. “It wasshrimp dumplings, Amir. It’s gonna take more than six hours for me to get over it.”

I take a sip of wine and smile up at my neighbor. “Hey, Amir, what is your love language?”

He dips his chin and looks at me like I just asked him to be my sperm donor. “My what language?”

“Never mind.”

“Mine is food, obviously.” Ramona glares at her husband. “Shrimp dumplings, in particular.”

“I don’t think that’s one of the options,” I inform my friend.

“Well, it should be.”

Amir puts in a set of earbuds. Smart move. “I’m going for my run. Good luck, Molly.”

Once he’s out of earshot, I ask, “How long are you going to make him suffer?”

“Probably just a couple more hours.” Ramona leans forward and snatches up her wine glass again. “Okay, so, back to your date with the young stud. Are we going for hot fling or potential relationship?”

I throw a palm out to her. “I have no idea. I can’t think about that yet.” But I drop my hand to the couch and ask, “It’s crazy to consider actually dating a guy so much younger, isn’t it?”

Even if he’s starting to check all the boxes.

“I don’t know. They say women and men reach their sexual peaks years apart, so it might be perfect. But you’re probably right. Don’t think about it too hard and just enjoy yourself.”

“Every time I think about actually dating, my sweat glands go into overdrive. I haven’t been naked in front of any man but Blake forseventeen years. You’ve seen Bobby. His body is like a marble statue. Mine is like...a child’s Play-Doh version.”

My words have Ramona rocketing forward in her seat, spine straight as board. “I know what you need! Do you trust me?”

Her maniacal expression has me draining my wine glass. “No. Not even a little.”

“Why is he looking at me like that?” I mutter surreptitiously out of the side of my mouth.

Ramona and I watch the tall man with zero visible pores and immaculate head-to-toe black clothing in the mirror. He’s eyeing me like a science project gone wrong.

“I think he’s evaluating your bone structure to determine the right haircut,” Ramona whispers.

My eyes go wide. “I think there’s been a mistake!” I spin my chair to face Ramona where she stands beside me. “You saidmakeover, not haircut!”

She throws her hands up. “A haircut is part of a makeover. Have you never seen Oprah?”

“Ramona, my date istonight! I don’t have time for makeupanda haircut, even if I wanted one. I haven’t even picked out my outfit yet!”

“I’ve got that covered, I told you.”

The man, who introduced himself as Lars a few brief minutes ago, runs an index finger over my ponytail and interrupts, “The hairpiece is tragic.”

I meet his eyes in the mirror. “It’s worse without it, I assure you. Can we just skip to the makeup?”

He purses his lips and studies my face again. “Am I permitted to address the unibrow or is that off limits too?”

I gasp and bring a hand up to cover my forehead. “I don’t have a unibrow!”

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