Of course I do. First time they had a date, I gave him shit with a whole workout of comments working in Kanye’s line ‘my psychic told me she’ll have an ass like Serena.’ Trey was pissed at me at first, but by the end we were having fun with it. “Still say you punched far above your weight. For reasons I haven’t yet deciphered, she took pity on your immature ass.”

And it’s true. But she did, and it’s truly an unsolved mystery how he landed her because he was a drunken frat boy who was nearly flunking out of a party school when he met her. And when he popped the question, she said yes.

Somehow, she saw his potential way down deep under the fuckboy exterior and shaped him right up over the last few years into a responsible adult and good husband. But we both still know that she’s way out of his league and he’s a lucky son of a bitch.

Trey scratches behind his ear and gives me a scrunched eye look as though he’s deciding if I’m ready to hear what he’s about to tell me. “I feel like this Zoey might be your Serena.”

I laugh. “Don’t jump that far ahead just yet. Even if you’re right, you’ll jinx shit and I’m going to be whacking off alone for the next five years or something.”

He shrugs like he believes me, but the gleam in his eye says I haven’t swayed him in the slightest. “Maybe not. But I remember feeling this” —he gestures to me— “desperate.”

Desperate? “I’m not desperate. I’m . . . interested.” Shit, that one sounded like a lie even to me.

“Interested is what you were when you realized that your dick could do things besides piss,” Trey jokes. “What you are is more hopeless than a one-legged man in a Kung fu movie.”

“Still got enough to kick your ass.”

Trey leans into the mock threat. “Good, then you should use all that energy and gusto to call her.”

The words hang in the air for long moments as I try to think of a rejoinder. But I don’t have one. Or at least, none that doesn’t make me sound like a desperate loser who’s making up bullshit to deflect from the reality of my situation.

“Fine,” I finally concede. “I’ll think about it.”

He smacks me on the back, hard, knowing that I already decided I was going to call Zoey but needed that extra push to man up. “About damn time. Last sprint. Loser buys breakfast. On your mark, get set . . .”

He doesn’t say go because he’s already running, leaving me in the dust once again.