I huffed. “I don't know what that means, but it already sounds gross.”
“Listen, you're asking me to go against the guy's code and divulge oursecrets, here. Don't act all prissy if youreallywanna know this stuff.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“Point is. If I'm only interested in getting laid, I'm not going to invest myself too much in a girl who wants to be chased. Because if a girl sees you're willing to jump through hoops for her, well … guess what. She'll suddenly want to know how high and how many morehoops you'll jump through. That's a losing proposition for the man who only wants apump and dump.”
I resisted the urge tourpall over my phone.
“So if she's just a piece of ass, I'll only talk to her on my terms. A text here, a text there, and only when I feel like it, never because shewantsme to text her. The idea is to give just enough contact for her to know that I'm not all that serious about her, and if she gets her hopes up over me, that'sherfault, because I'm obviously not Prince Charming, here.”
“Okay … and if you dolike the girl?”
“Well. Very rarely is that the case. But if a girl comes along who is so magical and captivating that I, for some reason, feel compelled to date her? Yes. I will jump through all those goddamn hoops, as many times as she wants.”
“What if a guy is willing to jump through all the hoops just to get laid, though? Is that a thing?”
“You mean, the kind of guy who will sayI love youif it means getting his dick wet, and you won't realize he didn't mean it until it's already too late? Yeah, sure, they're out there, too. Not much you can do about them, I guess. The world's filled with all types, y'know?”
“So … there's really no way of knowing which he might be.”
“Yup! Pretty much.” Derek smacked his lips. “So, who's the lucky guy?”
I stammered. “Oh, um. Just—a co-worker.”
“Oh, at the diner? What is he, the fry cook? Or the dishwasher?”
I laughed. “Trust me, no—he makes good money.”
“Oooh, so he's the manager, then. Damn, Honor! Shootin' high! Does he drive a sweet, beat up '92 Ford Taurus?”
How did older brothers always knowexactlywhich buttons to press?
“Actually,” I snarled, “he drives a Masera—”
I cut myself off and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Uh.” Derek chuckled. “You were about to say Maserati.”
“I meant to say Mazda.”
“Bit of a difference between those cars,” Derek said. But his tone had changed—he went from playful and teasing to suddenly skeptical.I knew I had to get off the phone before he started digging.
“Well hey, Derek, I should go. But thanks for revealing the secrets of dirtbag men everywhere.”
“Sure, sure. Just tell me one last thing, sis?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever hear back about that ice girl job?”
Fuck.He knew.
I gulped. “Oh, ah, no. I guess they hired somebody else.”
“Ohhh. Okay. Because if were talking about anathlete—”
“Alright! I really gotta go now! Thanks again! Bye Derek!”
