“Fuck no. I’d be on my way there right now.”

“Hold up there, Ragey McRagerson. Think about what you’re saying. Some guy has his arm around her shoulder, and you’re considering driving eight million hours north into the middle of nowhere to do what? Yell at him? Yell at Sunny? Throw her over your shoulder and move to a cabin in the woods with no running water and an outhouse so you can keep her in a cage and take her for walks on a leash?”

“You’re making me sound like a caveman.”

“If the loincloth fits . . .”

“He’s her ex. They dated for four years, Vi. What if she gets drunk and decides his tiny dick is better than my above average, magical unicorn dick?”

“I think you need to stop worrying about your mythical man unit and focus on the real problem. You’ve made some mistakes with Sunny. She has legitimate reasons to be wary about getting into this relationship with you. It sucks. I know that. But you have lots of redeeming qualities. You’re awfully considerate and sweet when you’re not out whoring your dick. Which you haven’t been, but it still looks bad, and your reputation precedes you.”

“I can’t take back all the bunnies.”

“Nope, you can’t. Which means you have to work a lot harder than most to earn her trust.”

I contemplate that. “I get what you’re saying, but I don’t think it’s fair that I take all the heat on this. All those pictures since we’ve been dating haven’t been intentional.”

“Do you think these are?”

“What if she’s letting him take all these cozy pictures to get me back?

“You mean to make you jealous?”

“I guess. People do that sometimes, right?”

“Sometimes. I don’t see Sunny being vindictive about it, but you need to talk to her. Maybe it’s intentional, maybe it isn’t, but unless you have that conversation, all you’re doing is spinning your wheels, making up worst-case scenarios.”

Vi’s right. I exhale loudly into the phone. “Are relationships always this hard?”

“Not always. But the ones that are worth it are the ones you have to fight for.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

VIDEO KILLED THE BATHROOM STALL

I’m half a second away from calling Sunny when my phone rings. At first I think it’s Violet calling back with some final insult of the night, or parting words of wisdom—both are equally likely. But it’s Sunny, and she’s on a video call.

My first thought is phone sex. I don’t know why. I have no real privacy here. I’m kinda pissed at her, and we’ve never had it before. Also, my balls still hurt. I have a feeling it would be almost impossible to get a hard-on, let alone come.

I answer the call. The screen remains black for several seconds before Sunny’s tear-stained face appears.

My anger dissolves into worry. “Sunny? What’s wrong?” I try to assess her surroundings, but she’s holding the phone close to her face.

“You promised!” She’s drunk. I can tell by her slur and the heaviness of her eyes. I’ve seen Sunny tipsy a couple of times. She was cute and fun and touchy. That’s nothing like she is right now.

I can only assume she’s seen the pictures of my dick. “Sunny, baby. I can explain.”

“You can always explain! You’re so good at it. Why do you have to look so good? Why do you have to be so sexy and sweet and good at sex? You’re all I can think about and—and—and—” She breaks down in a fit of tears.

I can’t see her face anymore. I think I’m looking at her hair, but it’s hard to tell. Music gets loud and then quiet again. Voices in the background sound male. I wish I had my earbuds. Sunny’s a loud crier, and sound carries around here. Even with the buffer of forest surrounding the cabins, our private conversation is public.

“Sunny Sunshine, take a breath. It’s okay. I wish you would’ve called me or messaged this week, then you’d know you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“We didn’t have very good reception. Well, I didn’t. I shouldn’t have gone with the cheaper phone package. I mostly only had one bar. Sometimes I could see your texts, but I couldn’t reply. Lily’s reception wasn’t any better. I tried to use her phone, and there were all these pictures—” She hiccups.

“Let’s talk it out.”

She lifts her head and looks blearily at me. “Your penis is all over the Internet. It was supposed to be my penis.”

“It is yours, baby. I’m sorry about the picture. I got bit by a spider today. I didn’t know Randy was gonna put that picture up.”

“I don’t care if everyone sees your penis. It’s a nice penis. Except your balls looked really big. Like, not-right kinda big, which I guess is from the spider bite? It was the comments on your wall. I didn’t like them. I can’t—” She hiccups. “Did you know there’s a hooker bunny group dedicated to you?”

I sure do. I stumbled on it one day when I searched my own name. I created a fake account under the name Beaver Bunny and joined so I could see what they posted. There were a lot of selfies, many of them with me sleeping and the girl giving the thumbs up. Sometimes there were pictures of my junk hanging out. None of that is going to help make things better between me and Sunny.

“Baby, you don’t want to look at that stuff. You know how people like to skew things.” As for the comments on the picture of my balls, I can’t control bunny condolences.