Page 36 of Falling Off Script

Silence.

I wait for the usual laugh. The knowing chuckle. A snort at the back of the room from the dude who thinks negging is still in vogue.

Nothing.

Just twelve men blinking at me like I’m the problem.

Okay.

Not the response I expected.

Usually by now we’re trading “close the deal” war stories and someone’s bragging about optimizing their Hinge opener with ChatGPT. The guy in the corner’s usually already talked about “closing twice on the same girl” like he’s reporting sales figures. This—whatever this is—is not that.

Either I’ve entered a parallel universe... or these guys got a group discount on emotional evolution.

Next guy raises his hand—flannel shirt, neck tattoo, speaks like he just found inner peace through Spotify playlists.

“She said she wants to take things slow,” he says. “And I think I might actually be into that?”

I glance over my shoulder at the whiteboard.

Session Topic:Closing with Confidence.

Cool. So we’re officially off-script.

A few heads nod. The man in the Patagonia vest hums softly, like slow-burn vulnerability is something he’d recommend on Yelp.

Then another voice, from the front row. Skinny jeans. Earnest face. Voted Most Likely to Cry During Pixar Films.

“She invited me to meet her friends next week,” he says. “Is that a relationship move? Or am I overthinking it?”

I blink again.

“Gentlemen,” I say slowly, scanning the room. “What is this, a Nicholas Sparks book club?”

A couple nervous laughs. One guy nods solemnly.

“That was a joke,” I add. And that’s when it hits me.

They’re not asking how to get laid. They’re asking how tomatter.

Which would be touching—if it didn’t make me feel like I’m hosting a TED Talk sponsored by therapy TikTok.

I sip my coffee and scan the room again.

There’s that guy who used to argue every week about the value of “options.” He looks contemplative now, like he’s trying to remember if his ex actually did ask for emotional support or just a ride to the airport. The guy who once asked if “eye contact was beta” is biting his pen. The spreadsheet bro in the back has taken out an actual notepad.

My guys—my proud, formerly chaotic, usually under-showered tribe—aren’t angling for threesomes.

They’re asking aboutfriends.

Feelings.

Future plans.

This is either adorable or terrifying. I can’t tell yet.

I glance again at the board.

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