“It’s not that many.”
Buzz. Buzz.
“Hand it over.”
“What? No.”
“Give me your phone, Dex.” She holds out her hand like she’s talking to a toddler.
“Why?”
“Because you’re clearly too dense to see the problem. Phone. Now.”
Against my better judgment, I hand it over. Elliot starts scrolling, and her expression shifts from annoyed to disgusted.
“Oh my god. Listen to this masterpiece: ‘Daddy Dex, I saw you get benched today but you’re still my champion. Want me to make you feel like a winner again?’”
Brody chokes on his beer.
“It gets better,” Elliot continues with gleeful malice. “‘Your loss was so hot. I love a man who’s vulnerable. Let me come over and console you with my mouth.’”
“Can you please?—”
“Oh, I’m just getting started. This one’s special: ‘I know you’re probably feeling down after today, but my roommate and I think you need cheering up. We’re both very flexible and very discrete.’”
“They can’t even spell ‘discreet,’” Brody observes.
“Education clearly wasn’t the priority,” Elliot agrees, still scrolling. “Oh, here’s a gem: ‘Daddy, I just turned legal last month and you’re on my bucket list. My mom thinks I’m at college but I’m actually in a hotel room downtown waiting for you.’”
“She’s eighteen?” Brody sounds horrified.
“If she’s telling the truth, which is doubtful.” Elliot tosses my phone back at me like it’s contaminated. “This is what you’re used to. This cesspool of desperate women who see you as a walking fantasy.”
“I don’t respond to those messages?—”
“But you keep the apps. You read them. You let this garbage flood your phone every day.” She leans forward. “And then you wonder why a woman with actual standards won’t give you the time of day?”
“That’s not fair?—”
“Fair?” Elliot laughs, sharp and humorless. “You want to talk about fair? Let me tell you what’s not fair. That poor woman just sang beautifully at a charity event, and now she has to wonder if she somehow caused a professional athlete to have a public meltdown.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Of course you didn’t. You’re not that smart.” Elliot drains her wine glass. “You’ve been so used to women throwing themselves at you that meeting someone who requires actual effort broke your brain.”
“Maybe we should—” Brody starts.
“No.” Elliot cuts him off. “The problem is that women have been too nice to him his entire life. They’ve coddled him, made excuses for him, told him he’s wonderful just the way he is. And look how that turned out.”
She gestures at me like I’m evidence of some failed experiment.
“If he wants someone with actual substance, he’s going to have to put in actual work. Not just smile pretty and expect her to fall over herself to impress him.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“Learn how to be a normal human being?” Elliot suggests with fake sweetness. “Figure out how to have a conversation that isn’t about you? Develop some actual personality beyond ‘rich hockey player with abs’?”
“Elliot,” Brody tries again. “Come on.”
