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“The way we talk about women, because if my memory serves, you were right there beside me laughing at every goddamn joke.”

“So, you can see why getting with Dial is a bad fucking idea.”

“Dial’s different. This is different.”

“Go home, Cyrus.” Dial was shoving him off the field.

“I’m telling Dad.”

“If you do, I’ll tell him about you making out with Janette in your bedroom last week,” she yelled back. An audible gasp and whispers came from the crowd of looky-loos gathered around.

Cyrus surveyed the high schoolers like he was only now aware of their existence. “This ain’t over, Oz.”

He was right—we bumped heads on a few more occasions, but eventually he let up and accepted it. Now, when Dial and I broke up, for the final time, he’d paid me a visit, and the words exchanged were charged. But that’s a story for another time.

“She isn’t expecting you to be here today.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked. “It’s a meeting for the investors.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t know you’re one of the investors.”

“Cyrus, you said you told her.”

“That was the plan, but you know how she gets. I didn’t want to be called a dirty rat bastard.”

“You are, though. You are a dirty rat bastard for lying to us both,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

“Not lying, just holding back details.”

“Is that politician speak?”

“Why are you mad? You get to be Dial’s shadow for the next few months.”

I knew what people thought of me. Most whispered I was a lost cause and that my high school sweetheart had ruined me for all future women. They claimed I was obsessed and that Dial had me wrapped around her finger.

And maybe it was all true. But I was working on letting go. And I know what you’re thinking—if you’re fucking your ex every other weekend, how is that letting go? I don’t have an answer for that.

“It only works if she’s okay with it. I refuse to be on this site making her uncomfortable every damn day.”

“Congratulations, you’re a reformed stalker.” Cy kicked at a patch of grass with his foot.

“What did I tell you about that shit?”

“Exactly what do you want me to call it? Stalker, aggressive suitor.”

“Dial and I are over. And it’s been over for quite some time.”

“And for the past few years you’ve done everything in your power to change that reality. You can lie to everyone else, big boy, but you can’t lie to me.”

So what if I spent my nights figuring out ways to see Dial? Conversation wasn’t necessary; just the possibility of catching a glimpse of her at Morton’s Hardware Store or while buying groceries sent my heart racing. We were clearly over, but accepting it was harder than I’d expected, especially when I firmly believed we still had love for each other, no matter how we tried to mask it.

I enjoyed getting under her skin, but only when she consented to it. Like Sunday night sex. I’d show up and she’d be freshly showered and smelling good and it was obvious she wanted me to fuck her. In response, I’d talk about shit neither of us cared about just so I didn’t have to leave, hanging around, shooting the breeze about the high price of eggs or the selection of fresh snap peas at the market. I waited until she gave me a sign it was okay to advance. Sometimes she’d make the first move, but usually she’d give me a subtle signal, letting me know I could reach under her robe to caress her thick, walnut-cracking thighs.

Fishing my keys from my pocket, I said, “I should leave.”

“You can’t leave ’cause you’re already financially invested. Dial’s just gonna have to deal with it.”

“We both know Dial is gonna pitch a fit.”