“Sorry,” she said again, shaking her head. “I didn’t think I’d have to do this, give this preamble before we make out, but...my head’s gone a little weird, and I really like you, and I don’t want you to suck. So. I just need to make sure you’re not secretly grossed out by me, and/or that you don’t have a fat girl fetish. Even though you’re not skinny, either, but you’re not capital-f fat like me; you’re just...adorably thick. But I’ve learned that all shapes and sizes of people can be shitty, so.” She took a deep breath. “I just have to be sure.”

I froze, slack jawed, stuck between horror that Lily was saying any of these things, and weirdly proud about being called adorably thick. While it was clear to me that Lily was confident as hell, I had always felt considerably less so, whether due to a possible tiny smidge of dysphoria or the fact that my body shape seemed to be confined to shapeless blob. Which had probably been clear to her when we were discussing pencil skirts.

But Lily thought I was adorably thick. Two little words, and I couldn’t even explain why I liked them so much. Maybe it was just the fact that they came from her. But suddenly I felt...the closest to sexy I’d ever felt. No matter what happened tonight, I was going to carry that phrase with me for the rest of my fucking life.

“Lily.” I tried to gather my thoughts, running a hand through my hair. “I mean it when I say you are genuinely beautiful. But...if it makes you feel any better, or can convince you I don’t have a fetish, the last person I dated was a skinny ass dude named Dan. Who was really great at sex stuff but sort of bad at...liking me. And you probably didn’t need to know any of that, but I’m not objectifying you. Or, like, I am, but just because...you’re pretty and I like you.”

Romantic prowess: negative six.

But surprisingly, Lily’s shoulders relaxed, her face gentling out, like her defensive shield had retracted.

“What do you mean, he was bad at liking you?”

“Oh, you know.” I scratched at the back of my head. “Bad at like...asking about my day or wanting me to ask about his, or like...caring about me?” I shrugged.

“So, he was an asshole.”

“That seemed to be my friends’ conclusion.”

She studied me for a moment.

“Did he ever come to karaoke with you?”

“Once, yeah. Why?”

“I’m just picturing myself retroactively booing him.”

I huffed out a small laugh. “Well, he didn’t sing, so.”

“Of course he didn’t. Even easier to boo at him, then.”

I shuffled my feet, beginning to regret bringing up Dan.