His head rolls to the side to look at me with an exasperated look. “Same thing. I’m not doing this. Go to sleep.”

I flop on my back with a huff, frustrated. My brain is soaked in whiskey, so I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. “Kennedy said I have a small dick.”

“W-what?” I hear him sputter, but my cheeks heat with embarrassment, and I can’t look at him. I don’t know why I’m letting her words get to me, but they’ve been replaying in my mind since we broke up.

“Don’t make me repeat it.” I feel oddly vulnerable and hear his body shift in his sleeping bag, rolling to his side to look at me.

“She was probably just pissed off.”

“Oh, she was.” But it left me insecure, and I hate admitting it. “She gets really mean sometimes.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I roll to face him.

“You’ve seen it before. I mean in the locker-room and shit.”

He looks confused. “I guess. I don’t know. I don’t pay attention. I get dressed and get out.” He pauses for a moment. “You look?” A startled laugh falls from his lips.

“No.” I say instantly but then shrug. “I mean, maybe sometimes. You never get curious?”

“No. I don’t look, and you should definitely stop.” His eyes are smiling at me, though, as he shakes his head in disapproval.

“I don’t mean to, asshole. I’m just saying you’ve probably seen it.” I tuck my chin into my pillow, holding on tight. “So, is it small?”

He huffs. “I’m not doing this.” The whiskey has loosened him up, though, because he’s laughing.

“I’m serious, you dick. I need to know.”

“Why? There’s nothing you can do about it if it is. And Kennedy was just trying to get in your head.”

It worked. “Well, you could look now.”

“What?” He sits up straight now, looking at me like I’m insane.

I shrug, feeling only slightly embarrassed. “I mean, it’s not totally hard, but I can get it there, and you can tell me.” I lower my voice. “You’re gay. Surely you’ve looked at dicks before.”

“Virgin.” He points at himself and then points at me. “And why the fuck are you any type of hard right now?”

My cheeks heat even more now. “I’ve been drinking. Whiskey makes me horny, and we’re talking about stuff . . .”

“About dicks,” he says incredulously.

I flop on my back, annoyed now. “About sex and Kennedy. And I don’t know. Just look and tell me. Be a good friend.”