“Certifiable.” He sounded relieved.

I relaxed, stretching my legs over the cushions. “You know about Stupid Tragic Guy, but you don’t know about the ex-ex, the most recent ex.”

“There was another guy?”

“I was using him to try to get over the tragic guy.”

“It didn’t work?”

“No.”

“Let me guess. Did you get propositioned by his grandpa?”

“Yes!” I smiled. “You do pay attention to me.”

“It was a shot in the dark.” He was wry now, with a twinge of wariness. “Is this a problem for us?”

“There’s an us?”

He was quiet again. One beat. Then, softer, “I thought there was. A friendship us.”

“Friends.”

“Are we doing it? The talk?” He was grinning. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it.

“The talk?” I asked.

“Where we cement an actual friendship, where we move toward giving a shit about each other and have each others’ backs, and it’s not a big deal.”

Friends. For real. “So that means I should stop calling you Reese Forster in my head, huh?”

He snorted. “Oh my God, tell me you don’t do that.”

I laughed. “I don’t. Or I didn’t. Today.”

More laughter. “Fuck. You’re whacked.” A sigh. “So, when are you going to tell me about the ex-ex?”

“Never-never.”

“You’re a different duck, that’s for sure.” He seemed resigned to it.

“I know.”

“But I like that.”

I smiled once again, but just like that, my eyelids were getting heavy. “I know.” The moment had passed. We were back to friendly and comfortable waters.

And I was still buzzed, but now the buzzed had moved to the buzz that makes you want to fall asleep, and fast.

I yawned.

A soft chuckle. “So, do you want me to answer those questions, or is this where we hang up and you pass out on my couch?”

I was nodding off. I yawned again into the phone, “Saftrabels. Congrassuladnsonurwn.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He laughed. “No idea what you just said. Good night, friend. I’ll text you my responses in the morning.”

But I didn’t hear. I was asleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

Reese: Octopus. BBC says they’re smart. Bears could eat me, so there’s that.

Reese: The point of having the last word is feeling like you won? I don’t know. Conflict should be about resolution, not winning, or so my coach said, but he likes to yell. And get the last word in.

Reese: Makes sense to me, but I have someone to clean my place too.

Reese: Yes. It would have to change it to Warm Terrain and no longer Frozen Tundra.

Reese: Let’s cheer again. Good measure.

Reese: Trust her when she says she’s on birth control.

Reese: Are we talking anal or oral?

Reese: Not a goddamn clue. Let’s make up our own word. That can be called Frozen Tundra instead.