And just hadn’t bothered to tell her? Della glanced at her phone again. At the white toothpaste smiles of the pretty women, their impressive cleavages drawing the eye. “I don’t even understand why he even wanted to date me if Barbie boobs are his thing.”

She’d added three more pics to her Tinder profile since she’d joined. Two of them were full-length. It was plainly obvious from both that she was never going to win a wet T-shirt competition.

She certainly would never make it at Hooters.

Tucker went back to studying the menu like he was going to get a test on it at the end of the night. She glared at his downcast head. “This is your cue to say something like, your boobs look great, Della. They’re fine just the way they are, Della.”

Taking a breath, he shot her a composed look. “I’m not saying that.”

“Why not?” She sat up straight, her chest thrusting out a little as she looked down at her breasts. Thanks to her bra, she had some cleavage tonight, a slight swell of it just visible. “I’m wearing a push-up bra.”

“I’m not talking about your boobs.”

Della quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not a boob man?”

His expression turned exasperated. “All straight men are boob men.”

“Ahh.” She nodded. “It’s not an Arlo-approved topic?”

He snorted. “Hell no.”

“But surely commenting on my appearance is a wingman conversation?”

“If I was one of your girlfriends, sure. But I’m a dude, and it’s not appropriate to be talking about this with a woman who is the sister of a friend. You and me? We don’t talk about your boobs.”

“You told me about BDE.”

“Yeah.” Tucker gave a little shudder. “Don’t remind me.”

“Fine.” She huffed out a breath, wondering if he’d prefer the topic of cunnilingus instead, which had been on her mind ever since speaking to Selena about it. Hell, ever since she’d stumbled upon Rosemary and Ray in the act.

She bet it was in Tucker’s repertoire.

“So kissing and boobs are off the table?”

It was the first time either of them had mentioned what had happened in his truck, and Della braced herself for awkwardness or retreat. Instead he said, “That sums it up.”

The waitress arrived with Tucker’s beer, and Della waited for her to be out of earshot before asking, “You want to drink that, or you want to leave?”

“What’s your rush?”

“My date’s a bust. There’s no point hanging around.”

He took a pull of his Bud before setting it back on the table. “Screw that. You got all dressed up for a date, so a date you shall have.” He opened the menu. “What do you want to eat?”

Della blinked, touched by his thoughtfulness but not wanting to be humored. “I don’t need a pity date, Tuck.”