“Well, yeah. We’re married. And you know what? Maybe I should get the name of your lawyer, because all the lawyers I know are jerks who get all up in our business. And when you’re called to testify, you have to really sell how sad you were when I made a dad joke, because that is the only way that I’ll be found innocent. Like, really sell it. Tears, maybe. And then I’ll cry too, telling the jury that my husband just changed after he found out we were having twins, and started telling inadvertent dad jokes, and you know what else? I caught him the other day wearing tube socks. With shorts.” I pause for a moment, considering. “Okay, and maybe that says something bad about me that I found it to be really fucking hot, but Jesus Christ. What’s next? A fanny pack? Is that what’s really in our future? It’s like he was made for this. He’s going to dad all over the place, and why do I find that so attractive? There has to be something wrong with me, right? I mean, what if he goes to PTA meetings and just takes charge? Because we all know that Mrs. Kennington is a bitch who thinks her shit don’t stink, and maybe Otter would come in and put her in her place and—whoa. I would totally sex him up in the janitor’s closet after that. God, it has to be the hormones, right? I mean, I know I’m not pregnant, but there has to be some kind of transference. Because tube socks and PTA meetings should not be making me feel like this. We’re supposed to be role-playing stranger danger tonight, anyway. He’s going to be some businessman from out of town, and I’m going to be—well, I said I was going to be the small-town lounge singer, but he said I can’t sing, then I said I wanted a divorce, and then he said there was no way in hell I would ever get away from him, then I said that was creepy and you’re still wearing tube socks, you big, sexy freak. I mean, you know?”

Isaiah stares at me.

I have another sip of wine.

“I think I dodged a bullet here,” he finally says.

“Probably,” I agree.

“You’re married.”

“To Otter.”

“Who didn’t like me. At all.”

“Well, you did your best to try and put my dick in your mouth back then.”

He chokes. “That is not—”

I snort.

“Okay. Maybe I did. But to be fair, I did that with a lot of people.”

I roll my eyes. “I feel so special.”

“You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

I look down at my bare finger. There’s a tan line there, but the bar is dimly lit, so it’s hard to make out. “Right. We’re role-playing.”