Page 34 of Loathe at First Sight

“Why the hell would I care? Let them see their possible replacement. Keeps their skills sharp.”

Dylan looks appalled. “Ew.”

But Veronica keeps talking like he’s not even there. “Once, a guy and I were seeing each other fairly seriously—to the point where I was staying there. The sex was good, not great. I went on a last-minute trip and accidentally left a box of sex toys there. When I came back, it was the best sex we’d ever had.”

Dylan asks, “You have a whole box?”

She gestures into the air. “Dyl, a girl has to have choices. It all depends on what we are in the mood for. So, yes, I have a box of fake dicks. So, sue me.”

“You know, Ronnie, I think sometimes, you and I are far too comfortable with each other.”

He stands up to walk inside, but before he goes through the door, she tells him, “Don’t forget, Dylan. You are always one click of a vibrator away from being replaced in the sack. Stay sharp, my friend.”

When he’s inside, we both start laughing so hard we cry.

“Do you ever get tired of doing that to him?” I ask.

“Never. Growing up with four sisters, you’d think he’d be used to this by now.”

“Were you just kidding about the box of dicks?”

“Oh, no, that was totally true. The part of the story that I didn’t tell Dylan was that I left them there on purpose. When I came back from Spain, it was like the guy studied How to Please a Pussy: 101. Because damn.” She trails off and gets lost in the memory for a moment.

“Man, I need to get laid,” I mutter. “Don’t get me wrong, my vibrator is good, but I want the real thing.”

“How long has it been?”

“Over a year,” I groan.

She gasps as though I just told her the pope died or something.

No, scratch that. This is Veronica.

She gasps as though I just told her Jason Mamoa died.

“You could always hook up with a hot auto mechanic who is bearded and muscled,” she offers.

“If you are talking about Jack, there’s nothing that would get me into bed with that man. He’d call me princess the whole time, and we would be repulsed by each other.”

She points her finger at me. “Hey, don’t knock the hate sex. It’s pretty damn good.”

“Eh, no thanks. There was a young kid at the auto shop who did hit on me, though.”

She looks taken aback. “How young?”

“Not that young, Ronnie. Early twenties, maybe? His name is Jamie.”

“Oh, I know him,” she says. “The problem with younger guys is they have great stamina, but half the time, they don’t know where anything is. They need a tracker just to find your clit. You have to be their teacher, and that’s just too much work. But maybe he would be a nice palette cleanser for you while you get back on the horse.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Changing the subject, I say, “I’m really glad you came tonight. This dinner would have been miserable without you. How long are you staying?”

With a sad face, she replies, “I have to be back at the airport in less than seven hours. Dad is driving me in the middle of the night.”

“Nooooo,” I groan.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. Just remember that things will get better. Every single day, they’ll get a little bit easier. And one day, things won’t seem that bad.”

Laying my head on her shoulder, I ask, “Can’t we just go ahead and skip to that part?”

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