Page 15 of The Love Losers

Wait, did he undo the first two buttons of his shirt just to screw with me?

Oh, I hope so.

Is this the first selfie you ever took?

Why, is it bad?

No, but you don’t seem like a selfie guy. I was hoping I’d popped your cherry.

You’re nearly twenty years too late for that.

Heat washes over me. Holy shit, he went for it.

It feels like we’re flirting, which we shouldn’t be, all things considered. But also…

Holy crap, you were only fourteen when it happened?

I didn’t say it was any good.

Laughter spurts out of my mouth and nose, and I feel Joy looking at me—mostly because the whole car swerves with her.

I glance at her, find her smiling, and say, “Well, I definitely won’t be able to marry him if I’m dead.”

“Good point,” she says with a chuckle.

I look back at my phone, feeling my smile drop at his next text:

She’s here.

The spike of jealousy I feel catches me off-guard. I’m not usually a jealous person. When I found out about Roman, I wanted to give him concrete sneakers and sink him in the bay. I wasn’tjealous; I was angry that I’d been duped again. It had seemed wildly unfair for it to happen twice to one person. I was also furious for his poor wife.

I’d wanted to do something hurtful, like dose him with ex-lax or key his car, but in the end I’d settled for writing a heartfelt letter to his wife. I didn’t tell her who I was, but I explained what had happened, and how he’d lied to both of us.

They’re still together, according to the overlords of social media, so maybe she never got the note. Maybe she didn’t believe it. But I’d felt it was my duty to give her all the pertinent information so she could make the choice that had been taken from both of us.

This feeling is different. It’s sticky and gross, like when you put used gum in a wrapper and stick it in one of the storage wells of your car, only to accidentally dip your hand into it when it’s melted and hot.

I shake the feeling off and tuck my phone away.

“Well?” Joy asks expectantly.

“I guess she just got there.”

“And you’re worried she’ll take one look at him and throw her underpants across the table.”

Maybe.

“I don’t know what I’m worried about,” I hedge.

Joy makes a knowing sound that is at least ten percent more annoying than her chicken sound. Then, angel that she is, sheintuits that I don’t want to talk about this right now and turns on my Cyndi Lauper CD. Within twenty seconds, we’re both singing along at the top of our lungs. I’m actually feeling pretty good by the time Joy parks in front of my brother’s cabin.

Still, I pull my phone out of my bag before leaving the car.

My mood dips when I see there’s nothing else from Anthony.

What if they took one look at each other, decidedto hell with platonic, let’s do this thing, and headed straight for city hall? They might be boning in the bathroom right this second, husband and wife already.

I’m tempted to Google how easy it is to get a marriage license in North Carolina, but I can feel Joy watching me.

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