“I don’t want to be paired up with someone I don’t know,” I say instantly.

“You need to give him a chance! The guy I found for you is sweet. Very kind. Thoughtful. Good sense of humor,” Candice says, ticking off his traits like a list. “Super hard worker too.”

“You not mentioning his looks worries me,” I say.

Candice’s eyes go wide. “He’s cute!”

“Uh huh. He’s probably more like a hideous troll,” I say, immediately hating myself when the words leave me. Since when should I care about looks? My ex is very attractive yet he’s a complete asshole.

That old saying is true. Looks can be deceiving.

“Cute makes him sound like a fluffy harmless bunny when he’s anything but. This guy is all man,” Candice stresses. “And really nice. The complete opposite of you know who.”

I appreciate her not saying his name. And knowing that my ex isn’t what anyone would call nice. “You know who was way too attractive for his own good.”

“This is true,” Candice says with a nod. “But this guy is actually really handsome too, but I don’t know how serious of a relationship you could have with him. That’s why I think he’s perfect for you.”

She says that last sentence so brightly, as if she’s trying to sell him. Which worries me because I can’t help but think there’s something wrong with the dude.

“She won’t come right out and say it, so I will for her,” Stella says, nudging Candice with her elbow before she leans across the table, her gaze only for me. “He’s the perfect rebound man. He’ll fuck your ex right out of your system, once and for all.”

My mouth drops open. “Stella. I’m not looking for someone to—fuck.”

Now they’re all wearing shocked expressions, just like me.

“There’s a word I never thought I’d hear you say,” Caroline breathes, her eyes wide as she stares at me.

“What’s the problem with me dropping a f-bomb here and there?” I shrug. Drink more beer. Drain the entire mug, though I don’t want a refill. One glass is plenty.

“You’re too refined for f-bombs,” Kelsey says. Which is hilarious because she has a gorgeous movie star face and I bet our friends consider her more on the refined side as well. I know I do. When I first met her, I thought she had a mysterious, aloof air.

Or maybe they don’t think she’s refined at all. I’m not sure. “What makes me refined?” I ask her.

“Your perfect posture. The way you walk. How you speak. The way you dress,” Kelsey explains, and everyone nods their agreement. “You have a very elegant way about you, Amelia.”

It’s my mother’s fault. Probably both my parents’ fault. They’ve always carried themselves a certain way. When I was younger, Mother was constantly correcting my posture, my grammar, my makeup, my choice of clothing. I never gave it much thought. She’s always treated me that way. Not that she’s a tyrant, she’s just always wanted me to look my best.