Because I want a tiny crack in your armor. A sliver of vulnerability.

“Sounds like you’re digging for teasing material,” he prods.

I make a halo over my head with my hands. “Who me? Come on, it’s bonding. And a girlfriend would know that.”

He tips his head, examining me. “Sarah Llewlyn. At the eleventh-grade spring formal. It was awful. I was awful. And yours?”

“Heidi Klepper. Heidi was great. I was not. I was way too gung ho with tongue. It was a disaster.”

Jamie laughs, then goes back in on his pho.

I realize I just inadvertently outed myself to him. And he’s . . . unfazed. “Uh. So, obviously, given what I just said, it’s clear I’m not straight—” My voice dies away as Jamie’s foot nudges mine.

He holds my eyes. “I might have a stick up my ass, but give me a little credit,” he says gently. “I’ve made no assumptions about your sexuality.”

My heart’s drumming against my rib cage. My social circle is predominantly queer, my twin is bi, I’m pan. My little world is especially welcoming and affirming of who I am, and I treasure that. And sure, the city’s a pretty progressive place, but you never know when someone’s going to disappoint you with their attitude toward it. “I thought you might be surprised.”

“That,” he says, sipping his green tea, “would be despicably heteronormative of me, wouldn’t it?”

I smile. He smiles. And the room feels a little warmer. “Yeah.”

He sets down his tea. “If you want to talk more about it, I’m listening. Tell me what you’d want me to know as your boyfriend. Well, fake boyfriend. That is—you know what I mean.”

I smile as he blushes and presses his glasses up his nose, then tell him, “I’m attracted to people for who they are, not what’s under their clothes.” I point to the banh bao. “And I like dumplings.”

Jamie’s smile deepens as he nudges the plate my way. “All yours.”

I slide my pho bowl aside and pluck the last dumping with my chopsticks. “What about you? If you want to talk about it. Totally cool if you don’t.”

He tips his head, eyes down on his green tea. “I’ve only ever been attracted to women, but I tend to be a slow mover.” He hesitates, then says, “Relationships seem to take time for me to feel . . . comfortable.”

“Do you . . .” I swallow nervously, knocking his knee gently with mine beneath the table. “Do you feel comfortable with me?”

He glances up, and when our gazes connect, warmth spills through me. “Yes. Despite the grief you give me for being a curmudgeonly Capricorn.”

I snort a laugh, throwing back my head. “It’s my prerogative as a cantankerous Cancer!”