Page 22 of Rookie Recovery

“What?”

She jabbed a fry at me again. “Eat them. They’re not part of your normal plan. An accident. Spontaneous.”

Jesus, when had she gotten so … right? I hated it.

“Fine.” I picked up a fry. My body fought a mini-war at the smell of that golden grease, and the thought of how many gym hours a single fry equated to. More at thirty-seven than twenty-five. I nibbled the end—oh, fuck. It was good. “You happy?”

My taste buds sure were.

“No.” Katie’d vanished her own fry and was looking at me with that serious expression again. “Now, you’re gonna go out on a date.”

I choked on the half-chewed potato-stick of heavenly hell. “What?”

“C’mon, Sullivan,” Katie sighed in genuine frustration. “Let me help you here. When was the last time you got laid?”

I crossed my arms and glared, fries forgotten. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“It is when it’s making you act like a complete jackass. Give me your phone.”

“No way.” My hand slapped down on the pocket of my shorts like she was going to try and jump me for it. “Why?”

“I want to download a dating app. Unless you’re hung up on someone already?” Her grin turned sharp and devious. “The kid?”

“What?” Good thing I’d swallowed the fry or I’d be choking. “What?! No! The who? Kid? Who?”

“Real subtle.” Cue the Katie eye-roll. “C’mon, Sul. You need to do something spontaneous. Alive. Young. You need to get laid. Either bang the kid, or let me set you up on TopTier.”

I heaved the longest and most dramatic sigh I could muster. She didn’t flinch. So, against my better judgment, I handed over my phone. Watching her hack away at the screen made stomach roll with nerves.

This was a bad idea, right? Or at least a silly one. Surely, I thought as I dug back into my sandwich, I didn’t need an app to get laid. It hadn’t been … that long.

“What do you want your name to be?” Katie asked without looking up from my phone. “James? Jamie? Sully? What?”

“Jamie is fine?” I mean, it had been a while since I’d had actual sex, but I’d had hookups in the past months. Not great ones, admittedly. But I’d gotten off. With someone that wasn’t my hand. That counted.

“Okay, favorite color?”

“Um.” A pair of emerald green eyes swam into my mind, and I blinked them furiously away. “Black?”

There was that guy I met at the Bobcat’s bar a couple of months back. We hung out a few times. Made out. Got a little handsy.

“Green,” Katie said, like she hadn’t heard me. “Cool. Favorite type of music?”

“What! I didn’t—um. Right. Rock.”

And what about that cute merch guy who flirted incessantly during Bobcats games? He gave a halfway decent blow job. Well, he let me jerk into his mouth, which was basically the same thing.

“Favorite sport?”

I sighed, and her fingers tapped away over my phone. That one was a no-brainer at least.

She kept right on rolling. “Favorite drink?”

“Um. Protein shake?”

Oh, there was that other guy, from the gym. I got on my knees for him. A couple of times. Granted, it was my hand doing the work on me, but I mean, there was another person involved.

“For fuck’s sake Jamie.” Katie glanced up to half-glare half eye-roll at me. “Favorite drink like your sexy fun I-want-to-go-out-and-get-laid favorite drink.”

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