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"He doesn't let on when he cares."
"I don't—"
"You're not going to convince me, so don't bother," she says.
I set my cell on the table face-down. "It's nothing."
"Your fuck buddy?"
"We're not buddies. It was one time."
"But you want to be buddies?" she asks.
"I made the offer."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Tricky. I am exaggerating about your personality. It's not totally horrible," she says.
"It was last night."
My phone buzzes on the table.
"Is that her?" she asks.
"How would I know?"
"You weren't talking to her?" she asks. "Getting a text that says 'sorry, but you didn't meet my criteria'?"
"Do women do that?"
"I've heard stories," she says.
"The six-six-six rule?" I ask.
"What?"
"Six feet, six inches, six-figure salary."
"That isn't a real thing," she says.
"My sister told me. Molly." The one who's still here, not that Luna knows the full story.
"And she knows this how?"
"A client, I guess. A writer."
"Writers do know a lot of strange things."
"Yeah." And they're smart and sexy and witty. Or maybe that's just Hearts and Thorns.
"You don't make six-figures, do you?"
"Rude," I say.
"And you're, what, five eleven? Five ten?"
"I don't think it's my height," I say.
"Only fifteen percent of men are six feet or taller," she says.
