“It wasn’t?” she asked, trying not to smile.
“After I saw Summer, I kinda hit the bar and forgot my phone.”
“O-kay,” she said slowly.
“He’d just been stood up by this girl, and we started talking and, uh, he thought I was too drunk to go home alone.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Yeah, nice.”
She raised her brow. “It wasn’t?”
“No, it was,” I said. “He’s nice.”
“Is nice bad?”
“No, nice is just— Look, I said it didn’t matter.”
“So you did. Before you tell me why it doesn’t matter, can I ask one question?”
I sighed. “Fine.”
“You said you felt weird around him.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Can you tell me how, exactly?”
“I don’t know how. All I know is I end up saying stuff I don’t mean to say and agree to shit I shouldn’t.”
“What did you—”
“And I notice things I shouldn’t be noticing, such as certain things he says or how he smells of chlorine.”
She smiled.
“What?” I asked, somewhat annoyed.
“So he’s familiar, easy to talk to, and smells nice?”
I didn’t answer her. How would I even begin to answer her?
“I want to talk about Summer,” she said.
“Great.” I didn’t even hide my relief.
“Did you love her?”
Fuck, she was really on a roll.
“What?”
“Do you think what you felt for her was love?”
“It’s not a fair question.”
“Why isn’t it fair?”