That’s the third drunk man to come up to me.
“This is funny to you? Aren’t you supposed to be like all ‘don’t touch, her she’s my best friend’s sister?’”
Beck laughs harder.
“If one gives you more than a bump on the shoulder right there,” he touches me softly, “yeah, sure.”
I narrow my gaze and sip my mule.
“That’s how it starts.”
“Calla, these guys are harmless.”
“And idiots. Do they really think I’d go for them all drunk? Men are stupid.”
“Is that why you’re single?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Beck nods with another drink and starts to play with his napkin.
Okay, Calla. He’s just making conversation. It’s more than you usually get, so maybe give him a bone, yeah?
“I, ugh, I’m pretty picky with guys.”
“As you should be.”
I glance at him because I’m unsure of how to respond to a kind comment from him.
“Maybe it’s because my reading history has filled my mind with fantasies of how a man should treat a woman.”
“Or,” Beck says without missing a beat, “those books are making you realize your worth.”
Jesus. Two for two here.
“I guess. I mean, maybe it’s not too much to ask for a guy to hold a door for you or to randomly ask how your day is because he thought of you or to be proud to call you his girlfriend or be happy to see you every single day.”
I take a breath. Beck is watching me.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never heard you talk so much without yelling at me. It’s nice.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, and he chuckles. Which, in turn, makes me smile. This drink should probably be my last.
“Finding the right person is hard. You’ll find him, Calla.”
“Oh shit, are we friends now?”
My stomach flutters. I’ll never forget the day I met Beck. My brother brought him over after school, and he was dreamy. Oh, I thought highly of him up until that day in high school.
“No, but I get it. Falling in love is hard,” he says.
“So hard.”
“Patience to find the right one is hard.”
“Very.”
