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“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I toss my hands in the air, sending my food and chopsticks flying. “I already know you two like it ‘up the bum, no babies,’ I could’ve lived without knowing she shaves your fucking dingleberries!”

“Sebastian!” Oakley chastises. “I don’t do that! Stop scarring Channing!”

He pulls her onto his lap, and laughs. “She’s too easy to rile up, babe. Besides, I’ve already won her over.” Fucker’s not wrong. “Now explain to me what this SING thing is, and describe, in detail, what this fucker looked like so I can beat him the fuck up.”

And this is why I tolerate Sebastian Flynn. Not only is he a good boyfriend to Oakley, but he’s become a good friend to me, too. I go into detail when I explain the signature sequence performed by Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality and when Oakley gets practical, I’m left laughing until my sides ache.

“Now that our future children have been endangered,” Sebastian says, cupping his balls while he takes a seat on the floor again, “Have you seriously had no luck on Tinder?”

I’m embarrassed to answer, but I do anyway. “I mean, there have been one or two,” Kalon_45_ comes to mind, even though we’ve never met, “but the rest of the guys have been real douchebags. At this point, I’m quite happy to delete my account and pay for sex like every other single millennial on this fucking island.”

“Maybe Bash can—”

Sebastian and I both shout, “No!”

“It’s not because I don’t like you,” he explains to me. “I’m just afraid you’re, uh, too much woman for my friends. Most of them are pussies.”

“He has a point,” Oakley concedes.

“So then do I delete my account, and go at it the traditional way?” I really want to know because I am beyond exhausted from swiping my thumb left or right, and reading bios that aren’t real, and going on dates with guys who either scratched their balding heads, try to fondle my boobs just to see if they’re real, or scratch their balls.

“Actually, I have an idea,” Sebastian says. “You still need a bunch of shit repaired at your new place, right?” I have no fucking idea where he’s going with this, but yes, I do, in fact, have some things in my house that need repairs. “Yesssss.” I eye him, and Oakley frowns, clearly not following either.

“So, you can find repairmen on Tinder, and pay them by going on a date. They want to find love too, you know. All you have to do is change your bio to say ‘I need a painter’ or ‘I need my pipes cleaned.’

I snort. “I do need my pipes cleaned.” He just doesn’t know which pipes, and if he assumes it’s the pipes in my wall, so be it. Oakley knows exactly what I’m talking about because before she met Sebastian, she had the same problem. She just wasn’t as vocal about her needs as I am about mine. Oakley laughs, and Sebastian grins. “Problem solved.”

I mull it over on the way home, acknowledging that there is some merit to the idea. And if I happen to get some sex out of it, why not? I climb out the Uber car and walk into my apartment. I take a hot shower — I hate going to bed without showering first, regardless of the time — and put on my black and gold Agent Provocateur silk sleep shorts and matching camisole before climbing into my king-size bed. I pull up a few of the chats on Tinder, and roll my eyes at just how cheesy some guys can be. Then I unpatch MagicMike_36_ and his itchy dingleberries. There’s one guy who has piqued my interest though, and I can’t exactly pinpoint why. Kalon_45_. I open our chat, and even I can admit it’s quite standard with the perfunctory, “How are you?” and “What do you do for a living?”

I wait for his response. It doesn’t come.

After a few minutes, I still don’t get a response.

I close the app and plug it in to charge next to my bed. I stare out the window of my bedroom which overlooks a small rooftop terrace. It’s on my list of projects to do, but not one I think I’m going to ‘outsource’ like Sebastian suggested. I never did like a man tending to my lady garden.