Page 6 of Plays Well With Others

I tear my gaze away before I can undress her again mentally.

I am going to have to run six miles tonight to undo the incident.

But I can forget it. It’s what I need, and it’s clearly what she wants since later that night after a haircut and an eight-mile run—overachiever that I am—there’s a delivery waiting for me at my home.

I’m not good with plant species, but I recognize this one for sure. It’s a forget-my-tits ficus.

The note from Rachel confirms it—Meet Jane.

It’s like the incident never happened. This is for the best, but it also makes me a little…lachrymose.

3

HAVE YOU CONSIDERED A GEORGIA O’KEEFFE FOR YOUR UNICORN DICK?

Carter

There’s nothing like having free therapy living next door.

The next morning, I’m emptying the dishwasher and getting my neighbor Monroe up to speed on the Rachel situation.

He’s parked on a stool at the kitchen counter, listening as he savors one of my best-ever cortados, courtesy of this brand-new Slayer single boiler I am obsessed with.

“And then she sent me a plant,” I say, finishing the story.

“Let me rewind to my favorite bit. You actually got her a unicorn mug?”

I shoot him aduhstare as I stack plates in the open cupboard. “Was that not clear, doc?”

With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “I think what’s quite clear is you were thinking with your dick.”

“Have a little sympathy here. It’s that thing where you care what happens to other people.”

“Thanks. I’m in short supply lately.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say.

He waggles his cup at me. “But I will compliment you on this drink. It’s like sex in coffee form.”

“Right?” I say, proud of my newly acquired espresso skills. Taught myself. It’s like a puzzle, making coffee that tastes as good as coming. “I’m a fucking rock star barista.”

“We need to work on your confidence, Carter,” he says, then takes a drink as my phone’s alarm blinks with a notification—Do NOT forget you’re playing golf with your agent tomorrow morning, you time lord.

I groan. I don’t want to deal with that one. I do like golf, but I also know I need to talk to my agent about Date Night, one of my sponsors that I owe some appearances to. I’ve been putting off that convo as long as I can.

I silence the alarm, then turn back to Monroe. “So? What do I do?”

Monroe fixes me with a serious stare. “You want to know how to get past theincident,” he says, sketching air quotes.

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “Her party is tonight. I need to be there as her friend. Her longtime buddy. Not the pervy bastard whose mind is elsewhere. Ever since it happened, I’m like—” I gesture to my head, then make a scrambling gesture. “I don’t need more things going haywire upstairs.”

He nods, with real sympathy this time. “I understand,” he says, then takes a very psychologist-like weighty pause. “But you may want to consider if you’ve got some subliminal things going on with you…and, well, her.”

I scrunch my brow. “Translation please, Freud.”

“When I said you were thinking with your dick, I meant it. You have dick on your mind.” He takes a beat, then in his classic, droll style, he adds, “You got her a unicorn, man.”

He makes a rolling gesture, waiting for me to connect the dots. When I do two seconds later, I drop my head on the counter and bang it a few times. “A unicorn has a dick on its head,” I mutter.

---