“Just so we’re clear,” I say, “an STD test doesn’t do much if we’re looking to have sex with more than one person at a time.”

“You looking to have sex with someone else?”

“No! But I don’t think I’m the concern here. It’s a typical gender inequity: men are less likely to be monogamous.”

He looks disgruntled, probably because he’s a typical guy who doesn’t like discussions pertaining to relationship status.

“I’m not looking to have sex with anyone else at the moment,” he grumbles.

“Okay. Just let me know if that changes. I’d let you know if it changes for me.”

The thought seems to startle him. “When you’re with me, there’s no one else unless I allow it.”

“As long as that rule goes both ways.”

He opens his mouth as if he’s about to protest but changes his mind. He pulls up in front of my apartment building.

“You don’t have to park,” I tell him. As usual in Berkeley, parking spots are hard to come by. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I know how much guys love to talk about relationships.”

“What relationship? I thought we were just having sex.”

“I still like to be clear what’s on or off the table.”

“I’d like to put birth control on the table.”

Given how often Darren and I are having sex, it would be smart to have something more reliable than condoms.

“I’ll look into it,” I reply.

He looks at me with hunger. “Good. I’m looking forward to fucking you without a condom.”

I swallow with difficulty. The thought turns me on, too.

“And before you go to bed tonight, I want you to text me your measurements,” he says.

“Why?”

“You need an outfit for the wedding.”

“How do you know I don’t already have one?”

He lifts a brow.

“I could borrow something from Simone,” I tell him.

“There’s no discussion on this—unless you want to do it splayed across my lap.”

“I can go shopping on my own.”

“Did you hear me, Bridge?”

I bite my tongue—for now.

“Measurements,” he reiterates. “By midnight.”

This trip to Phuket is turning into one of the most complicated situations for me. I can hear Darren’s response: It wouldn’t be so complicated if you didn’t make it so complicated.

Back in my apartment, I try to forget about Phuket and Darren and review the steps Taiwan took to successfully contain Covid-19 for my health policy class. I text Darren my measurements and let him know to keep the outfit under seventy-eight dollars, the balance in my bank account. Maybe I can try to squeeze in another shift at the library before I leave for Thailand. I should have insisted on getting my own outfit for the wedding. I don’t know how or why I let him have the last word. Maybe I need to assert myself more so I don’t end up on some slippery slope with him, and the next thing I know, he’s dictating my life.