Page 93 of Clinically Awkward

“Like she’s contemplating homicide?” Fitz supplied.

“Exactly!”

“COLTON!” Vivian said, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.

Both men turned to look at her.

“We need to talk,” she said. “Now.”

“Sure, babe,” Colton said. “But this guy—what’s your name again?”

“Fitz.”

“Fitz and I are having a moment here.”

I watched Vivian’s face cycle through about seventeen different emotions in the span of three seconds.

“A moment,” she repeated flatly.

“Yeah, you know. Guy talk.”

“Guy talk.”

“About women,” Colton clarified, as if that made it better.

Fitz, to his credit, seemed to realize he’d created a monster. “Perhaps we should⁠—”

“You know what?” Colton said suddenly. “We should get a drink. You and me. Tonight.”

Fitz blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A drink. You seem like a cool guy. And honestly, it’d be nice to talk to someone who gets it, you know? Vivian’s great and all, but sometimes a guy just needs to vent about relationship stuff with another guy.”

I felt my brain short-circuit.

This could not be happening.

This was not actually happening.

“I—” Fitz started.

“Come on, man,” Colton said, pulling out his phone. “What’s your number? There’s this great bar downtown. They have wings. You like wings?”

“I’m British,” Fitz said weakly. “We don’t really do wings.”

“They have fish and chips, too.”

“Oh, well, in that case.”

“FITZ!” Winnie shouted.

“What?” Fitz looked genuinely confused. “He’s offering to buy me dinner.”

“He’s Vivian’s boyfriend!”

“Yes, and we’re bonding. It’s nice. Men should bond more.”

“You were just calling him a wanker!”