“It’s protection.”

“Maybe for you it is. I’m sure yours is made of titanium and makes you bulletproof, but for women around the world it’s yet another source of unnecessary pain. Oh, hey, I can’t believe I haven’t asked you this yet; is Sunny as granola as I thought she might be?”

“She takes care of her business.”

“Really? Wow. I was almost positive she was a natural girl.”

“I don’t think anyone’s natural these days.”

“Truth. Look, I gotta go. Alex has the Scrabble board set up, and I’m going to kick his ass.”

“Have fun with that.” Scrabble is my least favorite game in the entire world. “Thanks for the advice and your usual overshare.”

“No problem. I don’t know if I’m the best person to ask for advice on relationships, but I’ll help where I can. Sunny will only tell me so much. She’s smart enough to know I’ll share the important shit. Make sure you contact her every day. Even if she’s in the middle of nowhere and can’t get the message. You need to be as persistent as a yeast infection.”

“What if that’s not enough?”

“You can’t control other people’s feelings. All you can do is put yourself out there and hope she’s going to feel the same way.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“You’ll move on. But you can do this. Relationships are scary. Especially new ones with guys who have seriously questionable reputations for being womanizers. Sometimes it’s easier to go back to what we know because it’s familiar and comfortable rather than put ourselves on the line. If you want this—if you want her—it’s you putting yourself on the line, not the other way around. Call me tomorrow if you need to; Alex has a workout scheduled at nine in the morning. I’m planning to watch him sweat while I pretend to exert myself on a recumbent bike.”

She hangs up with a screech and a giggle.

I went into this weekend with a plan to get past third base with Sunny. I succeeded. Not once did I consider the possibility that going back to her small-dicked, orgasm-challenged ex-boyfriend would feel like the safer option to her.

Robbie and Violet are right. I need to step up my game. Otherwise I might lose Sunny to Bushman Tiny Dick.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BIG BETS AND VAGUE MEMORIES

After the call with Violet, I find an all-you-can-eat buffet and gorge. Then I drive to Toronto to pick up Randy. While I’m waiting for his flight, I mess around on social media. Bushman has been tagging Sunny in pictures. She and Lily are sitting at the table in the backseat, arms around each other with big grins. There’s another one of Sunny with her face right next to Bushman’s scruffy beard, holding up a bag of those damn kale chips. I hate him and his stupid name.

I add comments to the posts on her wall, so Bushman knows I’m watching his ass. I want to message Sunny about the whole four-year thing, but I don’t want to rock an already rocky boat. None of the pictures being posted so far are a problem, but it’s just the drive there. Who knows what other shit is going to happen as the week progresses.

Randy’s all smiles and “fuck yeah, camping!” when I pick him up. I try not to let my crap mood ruin his. He reclines his seat and adjusts his baseball cap. He’s like a walking billboard for Chicago.

“So? How was the weekend with Sunny? I figured it couldn’t have gone too bad since I only heard from you once.”

I struggle to maintain a neutral expression. “It was good.”

“Just good? Come on, Miller, give up the details. You’ve been radio silent all weekend. Did you finally get some action or what?”

In the past we’ve traded bunny stories. When Sunny and I first started seeing each other, I may have given Randy and some of the other guys the impression I’d sealed the deal. It wasn’t like I out and out lied about it, more that I omitted the details. Vi ripped a strip off of me for that. I saw her point. While it was unheard of for me to not get action, it made sense that I wouldn’t want to paint Sunny with the bunny brush. Especially since she’s Waters’ sister, and he’d probably castrate me with his hockey stick if he found out.

He’s chopped me in the shins a couple of times in the past month when we’ve played rec after workouts. He also got me good in the kidneys. That one hurt. I was sore for a couple of days. If he knows I’m sexing with Sunny, that stick is going to be aimed directly at my balls.

The GPS pipes up and tells me to get on the 401 East. I follow the signs, avoiding an answer.

“Miller?”

“’Sup?”

“You gonna answer or what?”

“We had a good time. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh, shit. You didn’t bang her? How fucking blue are your balls right now?” He pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” The traffic here is nuts. People cut across lanes without even looking. There are signs everywhere and assholes going ninety in the slow lane, then cutting in, forcing everyone behind them to slam on their brakes.

He’s thumb typing, and he hasn’t shut the sound off, so I hear every annoying click. “Texting Lance.”

“What the hell for?”

He stops typing to talk. “Because I owe him a case of beer.”

“For what?”

“I lost the bet.” He’s got that cocky grin going again.

“Bet?”