“So when you were kissing him, did you feel bored and weird, like this guy’s tongue feels like an uncooked piece of meat? Or was it more like, holy hell, we should set up a national kissing booth because this guy could retire this country’s debt in one day,” Sutton asks as we go for our mid-afternoon walk.
I hate exercise, but I need some kind of regular activity daily or my BG levels go haywire like they did this morning. Sometimes, no matter how careful you are, a diabetic can fall into dangerous levels of too high or too low blood sugars. Or sometimes, like me, you drink too much your freshman year and your roommates call campus security because they can’t wake you up from your hypoglycemic coma and your dad ends up having to pay a huge ambulance bill he can’t afford.
“Definitely the latter. It was so good I’m considering giving up sex for the rest of my life because everything hereafter will be a disappointment.”
“Girl, why did you not have sex with him?”
“Honestly, because at first he wasn’t my type.” Before Sutton can voice her disgusted astonishment, I hold up a hand. “Yes, I know. He’s so good looking that he’s probably Mother Teresa’s type, but every guy I’ve ever been attracted to in the past has been pretty much the opposite of Matty.”
Sutton arches her eyebrows. “Matty? You have a little nickname for him.”
“Everyone calls him that,” I protest. Although…Ace calls him Ives. I hide my cheeks inside the collar of my coat just in case I’m blushing. I don’t need Sutton to see that and use it against me.
“Fine, what are your other reasons, Miss Risk Averse?”
“He’s a player. There were so many pictures of him with his arm around a girl on Instagram, I got tired of scrolling. Ace says Matty’s dick has seen so much vag it’s now writing journal articles for OB GYN Today.”
“Make him double up.” Sutton shrugs. “And what the hell is Ace’s problem? He’s no angel himself. I can’t believe he brought some girl home and expected you to watch him.”
“I’m not happy about it, but isn’t Ace’s warning even more meaningful? Because he clearly knows what he’s talking about. Like you’re a film major, so I respect your opinion on films. Ace is obviously getting his degree in random hookups.”
One of the girls from my PoliProse class runs by. Sutton waits until the girl passes before turning to me. “I know you don’t believe me, but I think Ace is really hung up on you.” This time it’s her turn to hold up a finger and ask me to wait. “Hear me out. Your mock trial thingy is big on hypotheticals right? I always hear you practicing with Randall, ‘assume the sky is green and the grass is blue. That would make everything inverse, correct?’”
“You do a nice imitation. Maybe next year, you can be on the trial team.”
“I love you, Lucy, but never in a million years. I find it really boring.”
“I know. I don’t care.”
“Which is why we’re friends, but going back to Ace, let’s do a hypothetical, ’kay?”
“Go ahead.” It’s not like I can say no. Sutton would hound me until I listened anyway, even if it took climbing into my bed tonight and whispering it in my ear.
“Let’s assume Ace is in love with you but he knows you don’t love him back. He decides he’ll wait you out. Someday you’ll wake up and see the amazingness that is him.” She ignores my rolling eyes. “Until then he has to ward off any potential suitors. He does this two ways. He first tells the team you’re off-limits because he’s close to you. He’s called ‘dibs,’ so to speak.”
“Because we’re property and therefore dibbable.”
“Right.” Sutton nods, ignoring my sarcasm. “After warning away the team, he prevents any potential slippage by making sure you have a bad opinion of his teammates. These are all prime, datable alpha males. Girls flock to them but some girls, like you and me, base attractiveness on personality. So if we believe they’re stupid assholes likely to cheat, it doesn’t matter how good looking they are. You, especially, are going to slot these players into the ‘no’ column.”
“Your hypothetical doesn’t work because Ace and I have no feelings for each other besides friendship. I’ve known Ace since he was a snot-nosed eight-year-old. Any potential romance between us died out long ago, buried under a pile of bad-smelling clothes.” I tick off a list of reasons why. “Ace didn’t learn about deodorant until he was way past puberty. When I think of Ace, I don’t think dreamy male, I think of his constant farting in the fifth grade. He thought it hilarious to point his gas cannon in my face.” Sutton wrinkles her nose. “Exactly, thank you. I had to complain to his mother before he stopped. Plus, he has horrible taste in movies. Do you know what he wants me to see this Thursday?”
“No. I’m scared, though.” She looks alarmed.