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I wouldn’t hate there being a little more to it all.

Not like a six-page lit essay or some shit, but just…something…a little deeper?

Less Shakespeare.

More Reese’s Book Club shit.

Hm.

Should I take Teach to The Library Lagoon – our most popular bookstore – for a book date?

Is that shit a real thing?

Does getting coffee or tea or whatever that green shit that starts with an M is and looking at books together count as an actual date?

Forfuckssake, what does count as an actual date anymore?

I don’t date.

So, I don’t know.

Most of the time, we just meet up and fuck.

Maybe there’s booze.

Maybe there’s a toke.

Once in a while pool or a pool or hot tub or some shit.

Never food.

Or movies.

Or shit that required pre thought.

Honestly?

I can’t remember the last time I ever put in work for a chick.

But I’m more than willing to for her.

“You bringin’ her to the club party next weekend?” Kegger casually investigates, voice breaking through my scattered thoughts, stare still trained on the prancing broker. “Got word this afternoon we’ve got a nomad coming down from Serec.”

My eyebrows pull together in an attempt to remember where that is.

“Outside of Ann Arbor.”

Cluelessness remains.

“Michigan.”

Shit.

Right.

North.

I knew that.