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“Start with the groveling. Profuse groveling. And then we have to move into offense mode.”

“Offense mode?”

“You called me to win the girl, right?”

“I, uh…”

“Oh please. If you can’t be honest with yourself, just don’t lie to me. It’s insulting. You want her.”

“The guys would never forgive me?—”

“For robbing you both of a happiness you deserve and have waited far too long to claim? Yes. I agree. So, what we need is a strategy.”

“Strategy,” I repeated stupidly.

“Yes, you big, loveable asshole.”

“Hey,” I complained, but Brex was already moving into boss mode. What was with all of these world conquering women in my life?

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. You admitted it yourself. That was a total prick move, and we gotta compensate. Phase one? Grovel. Apologize. Phase two? Remind her of what you two do like about each other. Phase three? Win the girl.”

“You sound way too excited about this.”

“My only company has a one-word vocabulary, so I've been feeling a little isolated. This is the most excitement I’ve had in ages.”

Shaking my head as I ran my palm over my hair, I said, “Alright. So, I need to tell her I’m sorry. I’m shit for verbal communication, so do I write a letter?”

“Shit for verbal?! Broderick, you literally lecture America’s youth for a living. What do you mean ‘shit for verbal communication’.”

“That’s different,” I argued, commencing my pacing.

“How so?” she demanded, and I could just picture Rhyett’s five foot six powerhouse popping a hip expectantly.

“It’s not emotional, it’s logical. It’s information I have time to research and prepare for before I’m opening my mouth.”

“Research?” she scoffed. “Hell, Allen, how much research do you need? You’ve got thirty-one years of research, from where I’m standing.” Her words brought me up short, pausing as I thought that through.

“Yeah, uh…I guess I do.”

“Duh, you do! You get to bypass all that awkward favorite color, what’s your sign bullshit and skip right to the good stuff.”

Yeah. Right. If she’d even have me. If I could avoid choking on the betrayal. Nodding to myself, I turned on my heel to pace a new groove in the carpet. “Yeah. Okay, so where do I start?”

“What about a peace offering? Not a letter—grow a pair and talk to the woman. Something that she’ll love. That will make her feel seen.”

“Well…food is her love language?”

“Good! That’s good. What’s her favorite?”

“Um…Mexican is a safe bet.”

“Anything that you do just the two of you? That’s a bit generic. Unless you once shared a romantic flan on a mountaintop or something.”

Chuckling and grateful she was willing to crack my tension with humor, I weighed my options, thinking about our life on that windy fishing island. “We always got sushi together. We both like the same rolls.”

“Good! Yes, okay, we can work with that. Do you know what she likes with it? She a soy sauce girl? When it comes to women, details matter, Allen.”

Christ, didn’t I know it. On a huffed laugh, I added, “With enough wasabi to make your eyes bleed.”

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