“Whoa-whoa, hold up.” Nicole stood and pointed a finger at me. “What do you mean almost naked?”

My cheeks heated and I closed my eyes. “I…let him keep his underwear?” I winced at my own words.

“You what?” she shrieked. “Why?”

I jumped off the cushions and shook my hands as if I’d touched a hot stove. “Because I didn’t want to look at it. The rest of him was…” too much to handle.

After a minute of flat staring, Nic crossed her arms in front of her. “How long has it been? Honestly.”

I wasn’t about to tell her I was still a virgin. “Long, could we drop this now?”

My friend took a deep breath and shook her head in disappointment reaching for her wine. “Can’t believe you let him keep it on…”

Nic and I had only known each other for the better part of the two months I’d been back in the city and now I was losing her respect too. I snatched my coffee ice cream and sank back onto my couch.

“What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

I frowned, unsure of what she was getting at. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You can’t just leave it like that. You need to redeem yourself. Otherwise you’ll be known as the crazy chic who’s still obsessed with the high school boyfriend that dumped her on prom night…” she whispered the next part like it was the juiciest part of the story, “for a brunette.”

I groaned. “You’re right—gahh—you’re right. But how? I never want to see his stupid face again,” I whined.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, showing you’ve matured is out the window.”

“Nic when it comes to my list…”

“I know—” she sank next to me and held me. “Everything is fair game and nothing is off limits. I know, Harp,” she sighed. “Okay, well, does this count as crossing him off your list?”

“Permanently,” I assured.

“Well then you at least owe him an apology.”

I scoffed.

“It’s the only way to prove you’re not a psycho.”

I nodded. “I suppose I just march up to him at next year’s party and we’ll laugh about it.”

“Oh someone will be laughing. But it ain’t gonna be you.” She nodded back, her warning not going unnoticed.

“You’re the worst.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

There was no way I was going to thank anyone for this. Especially not my dear mother. I sighed heavily when I stood outside of the Brooklyn hockey arena, where I knew the Blades were scheduled for a practice to start shortly.

It was easy to get practice and game schedules when you worked at Brooklyn Lines magazine. Not that my job was very fancy—not yet at least—but you didn’t need one for a schedule and a badge.