“But I won’t wait three fucking years, I’m telling you that right now, motherfucker.” I take a swig from the bottle.
“Well, how long will you wait, then?” he asks.
“I dunno. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On what happens between now and then,” I say.
He nods. “That’s a very deep statement, Kitty Katherine.” He runs his hand through his hair and I’m assaulted with the words “Welcome to” flashing me from underneath his bicep. “Hand over the tequila, babe.”
I hand him the bottle and he takes a swig.
“I’ve never done this with a woman before,” he says.
“Done what?”
Josh motions to the tequila and the half-eaten food and the TV. “Partied with a girl like she’s a dude.”
“You call eating vegan creamed spinach out of my cooch ‘partying like a dude’?”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re so fucking funny, Kum Shot. You’re as funny as any of my friends. Funnier.”
“Yeah, I’m hilare. And don’t call me Kum Shot.”
“I could do anything with you and have fun. We could go to the fucking dry cleaners and it would be fun.”
“Dude, who wouldn’t have fun at the dry cleaners? Those motorized racks are rad. Or here’s an idea,” I say. “We could go to the fish market and sing the ‘Fish Heads’ song. Nowthatwould be fun.”
“I don’t know the ‘Fish Heads’ song.”
“No? Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, shit, boy, Google it now. Search ‘Fish Head song YouTube.’” I lean back into the leather couch and spread my naked legs wide, surrendering completely to the chemicals coursing through my bloodstream. “You’re welcome, motherfucker.”
“I like it when you say motherfucker,” he says.
“Motherfucker.”
“Sexy.”
“Come on, Joshua. Google. ‘Fish Heads.’ Song. YouTube.”
Josh grabs his phone off the table and the moment the unmistakable vocals begin, he laughs his ass off—which, of course, makes me laugh, too.
“How did I not know about this?” Josh asks when the song ends. “Best song ever. Oh my God. When I visit you in Seattle next weekend, I’m gonna take you to Pike’s Place Market just so we can sing this song at the top of our lungs.”
“At the stall at the very end? Where the guys throw the fish?”
“Of course.”
“Aw, that sounds like a fun date. You really know how to razzle-dazzle a girl, Playboy.”
“I told you that from day one, didn’t I? I said, ‘Get ready for the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.’ But did you believe me? Noooooo.”
“Oh, I believed you. I justpretendednot to believe you.”
