A man walking by gives Jules a concerned look, but she walks on, oblivious.

Two years ago, Jules and I started on the same day at St. Clair Press, one of the top publishing companies in the country. She’s a marketing assistant and I’m the editorial assistant for JoAnna St. Clair, the founder and publisher of St. Clair Press. We’re completely different, but I think that’s what makes our friendship work.

“I don’t know. Love, I guess?” I wouldn’t know much about either, love or committing to one dick. In this city of apparent endless dicks—according to Jules—I’ve yet to explore even one. The last dick I encountered was in college three years ago. It seems like a lifetime. Would I even know what to do? Is it like riding a bicycle, you just remember how?

Maybe that’s why I’m nervous about this weekend. I want everything to go smoothly, as anyone throwing a party for a major milestone in their childhood best friend’s life would want, but after being in New York for two years, it feels like I should have more glamour and excitement in my life. Lauren thinks I do. That was her reason for wanting to celebrate her impending nuptials in the city that never sleeps. Little does she know, I’m usually passed out by ten o’clock. The only reason I’m up past midnight is if I can’t put down the book I’m reading.

I’ll give myself some credit. I did move to New York City on my own, without knowing anyone. I found my apartment in East Harlem. It’s a shoebox, but it’s all mine. No roommates or pesky younger siblings rummaging through my stuff and stealing my dad’s hand-me-down vintage concert t-shirts. As the oldest of five kids, I earned those.

And, out of a large and highly-qualified pool of candidates, JoAnna St. Clair selected me as her editorial assistant. So maybe the pressure of living up to her expectations has put my love life, aka dick exploration, on pause. Like Jules said, we’re only twenty-five, there’s plenty of time for that.

“We were at Bounce on Saturday. It was such a vibe. Oh! And I met a guy.” She takes a sip of her iced caramel macchiato. “For you.”

“For me?”

“Yes! He’s handsome and successful. A finance guy or something. The music was really loud. I didn’t get the details, but I showed him a picture of you and he said he was interested.”

“I don’t love blind dates. You know I’m not the best at going in blind. I need talking points. Areas of common interest.”

“How about you’re both attractive people that are interested in sex at the end of the night?”

“Jules.” I level her with a stare.