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“Nah. Have faith.”
“Says the guy who just lost his virginity because he felt he had hit his time limit.”
“Touché.”
“Truth hurts, and we’re being brutally honest here.”
“Right. So, what bothered you about your ex?”
She uncaps the bottle with a sigh. “For one, he was ridiculously lazy. I work and study hard. My gran used to tell me not to respect or fall for a man who isn’t doing as much as me.”
“It’s good advice.”
“Yeah, it is. And I’m ashamed to admit I think I’ve been letting my eyes do all the leading. He was pretty, but not enough to ignore the red flags.”
She leans up enough to take a pull of the bottle. “Damn, this is disgusting. Only bananas taste like banana.”
“Ironically, true.”
“Anyway, I’ve been letting my eyes dictate what’s right for me, giving into the butterflies. But I think it’s about time to give the pretty boys a rest, you know? At least until one of them can prove themselves enough to be worth my time.”
“Sounds like a good decision.”
“Well,” she says, passing me the bottle, “all is not lost. At least tonight I gained a new friend.”
“Yeah,” I take another sip, “with no face and no name.”
She sits up fully and looks back down at me. Suddenly I’m cursing the dark Texas sky and the lack of moon. I want a good look at her. She seems to be thinking along the same lines because she leans down briefly in an attempt to get a better look at me.
“This is ridiculous. Let’s de-mask,” I suggest.
“No.” I can sense her wheels turning, “let’s keep it a mystery. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
“Alright.” I agree, though I know it’s not likely to happen.
Her phone lights up in her palm, and it’s too brief to see anything.
“Shit, it’s late. My mom is gonna pitch a bitch.”
I can’t help my chuckle.
“What?”
“Your accent. It’s pretty thick.”
“Yeah well, you’re obviously not from around here.”
“Not that far at all.”
“What can I say? I was raised in a vat of Texas-grown.”
“I’m not criticizing. I like it.”
“Damnit, I really have to go, but I hope we run into each other again sometime. Preferably when we’re livin’ our best lives.”
“What does that even mean anyway? A two thousand calorie day including all food groups and a four-mile run? The perfect yoga beach pic on social media?”
“Right?” She snorts. “More like living our best lie.”
