Page 84 of My Rules

“Now,” he snaps as he pulls me up by the hand. “Back in a minute.” He smiles to our dates. He drags me around the corner to the bar. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you doing?” I whisper angrily. “Pole vaulter? You couldn’t think of anything better than a fucking pole vaulter?”

“Two cosmos and a margarita and a draft beer, please,” he tells the waiter.

“Sure thing.”

“It would have been nice to know that I’m your brother.”

“I forgot to tell you.”

“And if that dweeb tries to high-five me one more time, I’m breaking his hand.”

“Oh please,” I scoff with a roll of my eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“He is not ex-army. He’s ex–fucking weirdo, that’s what he is.”

My mouth falls open in horror. “What a horrible thing to say. What the hell is with your date, anyway?”

“What about my date?” he scoffs.

“A brain surgeon who looks like Barbie.” I narrow my eyes. “You don’t think that’s a little bit over the top ... even for you?”

“Are you jealous?”

“Ha,” I spit. “Jealous of her?” I put my hands on my hips in outrage and wobble my head around. “No.”

“Well, you should be,” he whispers angrily. “She’s perfect for me.”

“Good. Go marry her, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Ha.” I turn toward the bar. “Wait until she sees your pig-on-a-spit cock. She’s going to run for the hills.”

“What?” His eyes nearly pop from his head.

I throw my head back and laugh. “That’s the best comeback of all time.”

Unable to help it, he bursts out laughing too. “Agreed.”

“Listen, I’m eating dinner, and then I’m getting the hell out of here because I do not like Herman.”

“Good idea.” He nods. “Neither do I.”

“You liked him until he was ex-army.” I put my hands on my hips. “Maybe it’s you who’s jealous.”

“Jealous,” he scoffs. “Of him?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think you are.”

“I think you’re on crack.”

“Listen.” I look around guiltily. “When we get back to the table, go to the bathroom and text Chloe and ask her to call me at the table with a fake excuse to leave.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Good plan.”

An hour and a half and a million high fives later, the plan comes into play.

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