Page 63 of Dear Pink

“Oh, it’s a fetish.”

“What kind? Oh, please don’t tell me a foot one.” She laughs. “Another toe kink might blow my mind.”

“Uhh . . .” I struggle to keep my questions in. I won’t ask her to explain the foot comment.

“Not me,” she clarifies. “I don’t have a foot fetish. I know a dude.”

Now I have even more questions. Ugh.

“So, you were saying, formicophilia?” Hannah asks, noticeably more relaxed.

The waiter arrives to take our drink order, and I raise my finger in a wait-a-moment gesture. No way I’m discussing this strange fixation in front of a stranger. He leaves, and Hannah stares at me with brows raised.

“It’s when you’re aroused by insects,” I whisper.

“Huh? Insects? Why? No, how?” She waves her hands erratically. “Wait. Stop. Don’t tell me.”

I chuckle. “Giovanna kept those parts to herself, but I assume her experience was vile.”

“Ugh.” She shudders. “How awful.” She bites her bottom lip and her eyes light up. “Giovanna’s revenge makes sense.”

“Yep. She bided her time, searching for the best fit.”

“Tonya?”

“She might have a worse fetish than formicophilia.”

“You mean the weird cat obsession?” Hannah teases. “Didn’t she meow at me in your office?”

I tremble, remembering her in the tan trench coat. “Anyway, Tonya isn’t my type. It was a vengeance setup,” I say, getting us back on track.

“What about Elise?”

“What about her?” I’m embarrassed for ever dating Elise.

Hannah’s face reddens. “She still wants you.”

“So?”

“I won’t be your plaything while you contemplate a reunion with her. I don’t date two-timers. Not repeating that mistake.”

Jack, the motherfucker. He cheated on her. I knew it.

“No, Hannah. You misunderstand me. I will never date Elise, ever again. Scout’s honor. She’s . . .” I grimace, remembering our artificial relationship. “She’s ancient history, and I’m only dating you.”

I put my hand on the table, open-palmed, a peace offering. She reluctantly places her hand in mine.

“Elise and I were engaged for a year, and the whole time, unbeknownst to me, she was sleeping with her boss. One day, she packed her bags and left. She alerted me to our breakup by changing her status on social media from engaged to single.”

Hannah squeezes my hand. “What a bitch.”

I laugh. The sparkle returns to her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t explain the situation sooner. It’s embarrassing to admit. She cheated on me for a whole year, and I had no idea.”

“I get it,” Hannah says, and I sense she does.

When the waiter comes to take our order, we send a bottle of champagne to Elise’s table with a message: “Get well soon. Hope it clears up.” Maybe it’s cruel to suggest that Elise might have a contagious disease, but we agree she deserves the humiliation.

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