“Is your friend even from here?” Liza asked. Dorsey opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. “You know what? I know he isn’t. But I can’t say no to trash talking overpriced drinks,” she said.

“You’re on.” He smiled back. A breath rushed out of him. Relief?

“Is this your car?” Liza pointed to a moderate sedan. “My brother went to real jail for unpaid parking tickets. How on earth did they let you park right in front of this building?” Liza asked.

“Really, the first bland midsize sedan you see is mine?” He couldn’t keep the slightest offense out of his voice.

“No, the first car illegally parked with no sign of tickets is what I thought was yours.”

Dorsey pulled out his phone again and pressed the screen. Liza turned around in every direction, and Dorsey pointed to his Tesla as it unparallel-parked itself and drove toward them. “That’s my car.”

“Holy shit, tell me there’s a person in there.”

“No, it’s the Summon feature. It’s slow but reliable and pretty handy on a cold day.” When the car arrived, Dorsey pressed another button, and both doors opened up like bat wings. Liza actually clapped like the machine had stood up on its hind legs.

Do cool cars work for women like you? Dorsey kept his face firmly inscrutable. As he slid into the buttery leather seat, he sobered.

She doesn’t think you’re cool, idiot, just your car.

“Navigate to Hotel Washington.” When he saw Liza pulling out her phone, he smiled. “Not you, the car,” he said through laughter.

“I’m not used to the spoils of capitalism. You’ll have to explain your ways.”

“So glad you said that. I think I can explain my ways so we can understand each other,” Dorsey said. “I read this article from the New York Times. They paired people off and asked them a set of thirty-six questions ranging in intimacy, and the people came out . . .” Dorsey suddenly started stammering.

“In love.” Liza said. “I read that article.”

“Not all of them. I mean . . .” Her directness made him sputter. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. No. The people understood each other better. I think we could try to—I just don’t think I’m your enemy.” His sentences crashed into each other like bumper cars. But he meant it. The only things he consistently felt for her were curiosity, annoyance, and a hearty dose of lust.

“We want the exact opposite things. The only thing we can be is enemies. You said yourself that no one can ever screw up around you. And all I do is screw up.” Liza picked at her leggings.

“Even if that’s true, won’t we negotiate better knowing exactly what those things are? Sometimes the stars align, Liza.” He enjoyed saying her name.

“Aligned stars don’t mean aligned goals.”