“No, I get it. I do. I can be friends with an undercover, asexual cop in the witness protection program.” Then something occurred to me. “Oh God, what if he’s not really asexual?”

“If he said he is, then he is. It’s not something people lie about. And if he did lie about it—” She gave a serious nod. “—then we’ll kneecap that motherfucker.”

“Merry!” Mrs Mullhearn said from behind us. “Language!”

I burst out laughing and quickly pushed the trolley of returns away, abandoning Merry to cop a lecture about appropriate language and acceptable vernacular in the workplace. I smiled the entire time, though my ears burned. Like a motherfucker.

Waiting for the bus was like waiting for Christmas morning to see if Santa Claus either delivered the best present ever or if he merrily burst your bubble, depending on whether you’ve been naughty or nice, and Lord knows that could go either way. At any rate, I was either going to be thrilled or disappointed. I doubted there was a middle ground even if what Merry said made sense—and it did. My brain was the studious, logical type that could see very rationally that gaining a new friend who was also asexual and gay could be like the best thing ever. But my heart, on the other hand, was the blind drunk one, stumbling around in the dark, belting out 80s hits like “What About Me” and “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go”.

My brain and my heart very rarely saw eye to eye, which explained my string of failed relationships well enough. Well, that and the fact that me being asexual was an issue. It never started out as an issue, but as things progressed and time went on, it sure as hell became one.

But Hennessy wasn’t like them.

So, as the bus pulled in, my heart was dressed in neon Lycra, a bottle in one hand and a microphone in the other, singing Deniece Williams’ “Let’s Hear It For The Boy” while my brain was stoic, arms crossed, working on some algorithm or genius equation that would determine indisputably, unequivocally, that I was the dumbest motherfucker on the planet for even entertaining the idea that Hennessy would be one, single. And two, remotely interested in me.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the bus and couldn’t even bring myself to scan the faces. Because what if Merry had jinxed me and he wasn’t on the bus at all, and I’d have to somehow survive the weekend—or God forbid, the rest of my miserable existence—without knowing what he wanted to ask me.

But then my stupid heart broke out with Bonnie Tyler’s “Turn Around Bright Eyes” so of course I turned around and there he was… smiling at me.