“Because that’s what she does. She’s the youngest of four attention whores. They’re a circus, four gorgeous clowns with gags galore. Except instead of squirting flowers and hand buzzers, it’s exhibitionism and insults. They’re in constant competition with each other, and Natasha is queen. I suppose it’s her right as the youngest. And they’re rewarded constantly on social media and through their show for their shitty behavior.”

“I’ve never watched it,” he admitted. “Just never sounded interesting to me.”

“Me neither. I mean, I’ve watched a few episodes because they’re my clients and I thought I should give them a fair shake since everybody knows they’re a shitshow. I wanted to judge them on their own merit. But I think the show has created a drama machine. Their audience craves it, and so they keep delivering. I just don’t think assholes are funny. It’s why I hate Seinfeld.”

I watched him for a reaction. There was always a reaction—the admittance was blasphemy in some circles.

But Kash only smirked. “Well, they are all assholes.”

“Thank you,” I said, gesturing to him. “I just don’t think it’s funny to be a jerk. Call me crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. Not about Seinfeld and not about the Felix Femmes.” He paused. “How’s everything else going?”

Brock. He meant Brock, and I let loose another sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve got it all packed up in boxes where I can’t see it in the hopes that I’ll forget about it.”

“And how’s that working out?”

“Terrible. But what else can I do? Wallowing won’t do any good. I’d rather keep trucking in the hopes that, at some point, it won’t hurt so bad.”

A flash of emotion shot behind his eyes, there and then gone. “What’s been the hardest part?” he asked honestly, so sincere.

I answered instantly, before I had time to think, having already dissected and cataloged the entire affair. “The hardest part is being wrong. I was stupid to trust him. I should have known better. I could have avoided all this if I’d been smarter. If I’d paid more attention.”

He waited for me to continue, but when I didn’t, he said, “I think it’s worth noting that the hardest part isn’t losing him.”

“It’s not,” I answered definitively. “I’m more confused about how I dated a guy with calf implants.”

A laugh burst out of him, and I smiled at the sound, though my heart twisted.