I laugh. “What?”

“You haven’t talked to me since the last time you called and I didn’t immediately inform you of my surroundings. Just trying to keep the only famous friend I have.” The words are joking, but I detect an undercurrent of hurt in them.

“I’m sorry, man,” I reply. “It’s not just you. I haven’t felt like talking to anyone lately.”

“But you do now?”

“Not really. I’m just…bored, I guess,” I admit, looking around my empty, bare living room.

“Well, I feel much better about our friendship now, Dawson. Thanks.”

I laugh again. “You know what I mean.”

“Wait, wasn’t tonight your date with Miss South Carolina? I mean, at least according to the ten or twelve articles I saw about it…”

“Ten or twelve, Anderson? Seriously?”

“I had to set up a Google alert on you. I got mobbed by all these girls asking about the interview with Vi—the interview you did—and I had no idea about it, so I’ve had to make sure I’m updated so I don’t have to make shit up. Wish I could rely on you, but that’s unpredictable at best, so… I was going to stop after eight, but then there was this one article that described the way your hair looked with your gray eyes during your interview so beautifully I had to see if anyone else did it justice.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not, and that worries me.”

Anderson chuckles. “That’s the beauty of humor, my friend.” After a brief pause, he asks, “So…wasn’t your date tonight?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “It was.”

“I’m going to take the fact that you’re calling me at ten thirty as a sign it was not a smashing success?”

“No, it was fine. She was nice. Pretty.”

Anderson snorts. “Please, don’t stretch your vocabulary on my account.”

“She didn’t fawn all over me and pretend she’s watched every minute of every game I’ve ever played in. She didn’t mention a boy band. She wants to be a kindergarten teacher. And she was more hot than just pretty,” I elaborate.

“Okay, I actually knew all that except the lack of fawning. Owens read her pageant interview to us on the way home from the game yesterday. And showed some photos.”

“Of course he did.” I roll my eyes, even though Anderson can’t see me.

“So…what happened? What horrible act did Miss Nice and Pretty commit? Did she insult Nebraska?”

“She ordered pumpkin ravioli.”

Andersons laughs. “Seriously? What the fuck does that—oh.”

“I spent the whole night comparing them,” I admit.

“I don’t see how that could become an issue,” Anderson replies sarcastically. “Oh, wait…”

“I know. It was just—I couldn’t help it.” I pause. “I miss her. I just left, and I already miss her so fucking much.” It’s a relief to say the words out loud.

“Yes, I’m definitely getting that vibe from you, Dawson,” Anderson jokes. Then his voice sobers. “I’m really sorry, dude. I wish there was some way it could work out for you guys.”