Page 36 of Exes and O's

Crystal and Mel eye me expectantly, noticing I’m staying tight-lipped. Truthfully, I’m picturing Dad’s face, which will be one of cutting disappointment. He’s been waiting ages to host one of our weddings. Fatherly pride aside, he lives for a good party, particularly if he gets an excuse to be in the limelight.

Belatedly, I shrug. “I completely support whatever you guys want to do, so long as you livestream your ceremony. I want to live vicariously,” I add.

“Did Scotty want to elope too?” Mel inquires, deep in a downward-dog stretch.

Crystal shakes her head. “He was up for whatever I wanted to do, as long as we get married as soon as possible. He’s mostly excited to go on a honeymoon.”

Mel sits upright and gives her a subduedaww. After a string of short flings in the past year, she’s in a phase where the sheer mention of commitment makes her full-body shudder. Her commitment phobia aside, I understand her decision. I’d be off men too if my last boyfriend rocked an exclusive wardrobe of turtlenecks.

Aware of Mel’s less-than-enthusiastic outlook on love, Crystal tries to backtrack with an unromantic ramble about the merits of saving for a down payment on a home instead of “frivolously” spending it all on one day.

“Do you think you’ll ever be interested in something long-term?” I ask Mel. The last few guys she brought home, she tasked with labor around her apartment (like fixing her leaky faucet) before sex. What a queen.

Mel avoids my eyes, struggling to pick at a hangnail on account of her sparkly acrylics. “Absolutely not. I like my life the way it is. I get to focus all my energy and attention on my business without having to feel guilty. I don’t have to compromise what I want to watch on Netflix or what I want to eat for dinner.”

“Do you ever feel... lonely?” I ask softly.

She studies her coral running shoes, obviously not eager to dwell much longer. “Nope. I have Doug to keep me warm at night.”

“Her vibrator,” Crystal whispers.

“We support you and your battery-operated relationship either way.” I lean in to smother her with a sweaty hug.

She cracks a smile while not-so-discreetly worming out of my embrace. “Take it from me. Men are burdens to be abandoned atthe first sign of trouble. Anyway, someone tell me something fun and scandalous. I just killed the mood.”

I volunteer myself as tribute. She lives for gossip, and I’m willing to sacrifice my dignity for her temporary amusement. “Okay, fun story, I tried to kiss Trevor last night.”

Crystal propels upward in a hard-hitting crunch, bewildered. “What fresh hell? You tried to kissTrevor?”

Mel slaps the mat enthusiastically. “I saw that coming a mile away.”

“How did this even happen? And what happened to your exes plan?”

The pinks in their cheeks darken to crimson with secondhand embarrassment as I rattle off the grisly details of last night.

“Wait, Trevor went on the date with you and Wanderlust Brandon?” Mel asks.

“I’m not sure why you’re getting dating advice fromTrevor. He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong. But he wouldn’t know a relationship from his ass,” Crystal remarks, holier than thou.

I don’t know why, but I feel an overwhelming urge to come to his defense. “Didn’t he give you solid advice for grand-gesturing Scotty?” Last summer, Crystal broke up with Scott temporarily when a photo of the two of them went viral and a bunch of trolls fat-shamed her. Trevor helped her orchestrate a grand apology right here in the gym where they first met.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Give him some credit. He’s not a total nimrod.” My tone is terse, raising their suspicions.

“But why would Trevor give up his night to supervise your date? Do you think he likes you?” Mel asks.

“No. It’s not as weird as you make it sound.” I pause for a moment as they both watch me, appalled on my behalf. “I mean... okay. I made things weird with the kiss. But I’m gonna apologize tonight. It’ll be fine. I’ll blame it on the alcohol. Things will go back to normal,” I say assuredly, more to myself than them.

Mel’s concern transitions into a knowing grin. “I think you should sleep with him. Just once. Get it out of your system.”

I shudder at the thought of a one-night stand. With my roommate. Of all people. “God, no. Do you even read the romance books I loan you? Every time romance characters have sex toget it out of their systems, they end up hopelessly attached. And besides, Trevor doesn’t like me that way.” I look away, suddenly very interested in the woman near the window squatting what appears to be my body weight.

Since move-in day, I’ve lived with the truth that I am not Trevor’s type. I held on to that fact with pride, like a lifeline. Without the unspoken sanctity of our strictly platonic relationship, my perfectly stable living situation goes straight down the tube.

“And he’s definitely notyourtype,” Crystal echoes, with a pinch more force than necessary.

“Well, my type istrash, apparently,” I grumble, thinking of Jeff. “So it kind of leaves it open to interpretation.”

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