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"Why didn't you lead with that! Of course, it makes me feel better." She has the decency to pause for about a millisecond. "How big's his dick?"
I burst out laughing. If I had a dollar for every time I've predicted the inappropriate, stream-of-consciousness thoughts that blast directly from Riley's brain and out of her mouth, I'd have a down payment on a car. I shove a mound of popcorn into my maw to stall answering while Riley bounces at her end of the couch.
"It's definitely a handful," I smirk. "Maybe about this big." I approximate length and girth with my hand, and Riley's eyes widen.
"Lucky girl! I wish I had a dick that big to sit on for a while." Wine spritzer sprays out of my nose. The things this girl says.
"You're insane. I'm surprised my mother let me hang out with you when we were kids."
"Are you kidding me? Mama Valentine would be sitting here with me telling you to jump on that already if she thought you wouldn't disown her."
She's probably right. My parents aren't exactly shy about sex. They're very sex-positive.
"Ha! If I disowned my mother, she would just adopt you."
“Meh. I'm no fun right now. The only pleasure I'm getting right now comes from the joy of embarrassing my students."
"Ozzy's not pushing your pleasure button?" I joke. I know those two hooked up at the wedding. I think paddle boating will forever be used as a euphemism for sex. I don't think they even made it into the water. "Not man enough to tempt you for round two?"
"Nine."
"Nine what?"
"It would be round nine." My eyes bug out of my head. It was one afternoon! Go, Ozzy! Riley's eyes dart to the TV where, as luck would have it, the camera follows Ozzy around the ice. Her face falls. "The sex was so good, Lily. I didn't even know sex could be like that. I swear to god, having sex with Ozzy split my life into two vastly different eras—the before, sad-sex era and the aftermath, nympho era. Eight times, Lil! EIGHT-FUCKING-TIMES. He's ruined me. He's absolutely ruined me. Him and his unicorn cock."
I nearly spit my wine all over the TV. Again.
"I'm serious," she shrieks and throws a handful of popcorn at me. "I'm an addict. You're going to have to stage an intervention. For my vagina. She doesn't want any other peen but Ozzy's."
"I don't see what the problem is," I say. "If the sex was that good, why can't you just have more of it?"
"He hasn't called me at all since we've been back in the city."
"Call me crazy, but couldn't you just call him? Is your dialling finger broken?"
"It's the principle! I'm the woman. He should pursue me. And maybe he doesn't want to see me again. We didn't make any promises or plans." She pauses dramatically. "Maybe I should have listened to my mother."
"Bite your tongue!" Riley's mom is the biggest bitch on the planet, with a holier-than-thou attitude so bad you can't stand more than sixty seconds of it before your brain completely shuts off.
"I gave away the popsicles," Riley moans, not making any sense.
"What are you talking about?"
"I gave all my popsicles away for free, and now no one wants to buy the whole ice cream truck."
"Did you want Ozzy to buy your ice cream truck?" I ask. I always thought Riley was a free spirit. Never to be tied down. Maybe I was wrong. "And can we stop talking in metaphors, please?"
"I don't know," she sighs, eyes shifting to the TV again. "I thought I just wanted sex. But…” she pauses, blowing a breath out through her lips. "Now, I don't know. I told him I just wanted to have fun. He agreed. Maybe he doesn't want more than that."
"I hate to point out the obvious, but you're not going to find out if you don't talk to him."
"I don't want to bethat girl."
"What girl?"
"The one who says she only wants a good time but then watches you breathe while you sleep, counts the laugh lines around your eyes, and wonders what your children would look like."
I've never seen Riley so distraught about a guy before. How did I not notice my best friend was having an emotional meltdown these past few weeks? Am I a bad friend? Maybe I've been too caught up in my own drama to realize that my best friend is having a quarter-life existential crisis.
