“Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.”“Yeah, so?”“He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.”“Being nice? He’s being horny.”

“Being nice? He’s being horny.”

“Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music. “What?” I called back. “You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face. “Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.” “So maybe he’s a little drunk.” “Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.”

“He’s practically stalking me. He just won’t let it go. He’s just being … he’s being a jackass with a flaky jackass crust and a delicious jackass filling.”“So he’s jackass pie?”

“The movies make the brooding guy the hero – the guy with problems the guy who carries a gun, the gun with unresolved anger, the guy with a chip on his shoulder, the guy who’s a vampire – and they tell you that you can have the mythical happy ending with that same brooding guy. But in reality, the brooding guy is cranky. He doesn’t reply to emails. He doesn’t call. He’s only half there when you’re talking to him, and he doesn’t chase you when you run. You feel insecure all the time. You get needy and sad and you hate yourself got being needy. If you don’t know why he’s brooding, you’re shut out. And if you do know why he’s brooding, you’re still shut out. (Because he’s busy brooding.)”

“How did you get my number anyway?”“Some asshole named Nash.”“Asshole?”“Yeah, asshole. Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s an asshole!”I laugh uncomfortably. “Um, no I don’t think he’s an asshole. He’s always been nice to me.”asshole. He’s always been nice to me.”“Of course he has. You’re gorgeous. What man wouldn’t be nice to you?”“Plenty.”“Assholes, all of them,” he teases.“They’re assholes, too?”“Yep.”“Is everyone an asshole today?”“Yep,” he repeats. “Word of the day toilet paper.”I laugh, genuinely this time. “Is that right?”