Jordan turns her attention back to me. “By the way, there are still some things left at my apartment if you want to come get them. I think a couple of T-shirts. The ring too.” The ring gets lumped in with T-shirts. Of course. I glance quickly over at Doug, who seems to have no undue reaction to the fact that we are now blatantly talking about how, you know, I used to be engaged to the girl he was fucking behind my back. The stupid smile has never even left his stupid face.

The thing is, I should get that ring back and I should sell it. Lord knows I could use the money. But the thought of going back to that apartment is making me even queasier. “You can . . . keep that,” I manage to spit out.

“Hey there, hi there, ho there!” a chipper voice rings out.

It’s Zoey. And the faux chipperness makes her sound deranged, even though the big smile on her face looks relaxed. I blink at her, my sudden-onset muteness apparently not solely reserved for my ex.

Jordan looks up at her. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Zoey,” she says, and holds out her hand. “And you are?”

Jordan grazes the tips of Zoey’s fingers and looks over at me and then back at her, clearly trying to assess our relationship. I almost wish I could tell her that Zoey was my girlfriend and rub her face in it. But of course, Zoey would reel at that lie the moment she heard it and then I’d be more pathetic than I already am.

“I’m Jordan,” she finally says. “The ex-fiancée, as you might have already heard.” Another laugh. Seriously, what kind of fucking bells did I ever hear before? “And this is Doug.” She touches her belly and then squeezes Doug’s arm.

“YOGA DOUG!” Zoey says, with a laugh of her own. “Yes, I’ve definitely heard. And maybe you’ve heard about me too?”

Before I know what’s happening, Zoey slips herself into my lap and grabs my face with both hands. She gives me a huge grin that only I can tell is laced with a smirk, and then brings her lips to cover mine.

Maybe it’s a prerequisite in LA that everyone there knows how to kiss someone like they’re starring in the climactic airport scene of their very own rom-com. I even get a hint of her tongue grazing my lower teeth. She doesn’t hesitate for a moment. There’s nothing about this kiss to suggest it’s just a ploy. Nothing, maybe, except for the fact that I’m sitting there like a limp rag doll.

Finally, my brain and body seem to spring into action, as I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and kiss her right back.

After all, we New Yorkers know a thing or two about putting on a good show too.