Page 10 of Tito

Her brows raised. “He. Fucked. A. Stripper.”

“I didn’t say I was going to regret it,” I said in my defense. “I said it was going to be weird. The same kind of weird it’d be if I got rid of that lamp my mom gave me.”

“The ugly one by the door?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’d be weird if that was gone.”

I pulled the pasta from the microwave and plopped down at the table. While I picked at it with my fork, she sat down across from me.

“You don’t think it’s too early to be going on a date?” she asked.

It wasn’t uncommon for Mel to go on three dates a week. Granted, they were internet dating site hook-ups, but calling me out for going on one date with a man I met at work was complete crap.

“I can’t control what happens.” I gave her a look. “He asked me out.”

“Rebound relationships never last,” she said. “Ever.”

“Relationship?” I looked at her like she was crazy for even mentioning the word. Commitments with members of the opposite sex were the predecessor to deep disappointments. “I’m not going to be in a relationship with him. We’re going to screw. That’s it.”

“Forgetaboutitfucking,” she said, as if it were one word.

I looked up from my carb-rich cheesy Italian goodness. “Huh?”

“Forget about it fucking. It’s when you have sex to forget about whatever’s bothering you. It’s for no other reason than to take your mind off catastrophic shit. People do it when they get divorced, after a loved one dies, or if they’re in a really bad car wreck.”

I allowed her explanation to sink it, staring at her blankly the entire time. “You’re out of your mind. Who rushes out to have sex after being in a bad car wreck? Or on their way home from a funeral?”

“Pretty much everybody,” she said. “Think about it. You’re sitting at a stoplight and some high school kid is texting and driving, and she plows into the back of your car without so much as tapping her brakes. You crawl out the window and survey the car. It looks like someone kicked it out the back of a cargo plane from thirty thousand feet. After the tow truck driver hauls it away, the cop gives you a ride home. Still in a daze from the wreck, you look around and realize you’re going to be taking an Uber to work for the next month. Frustration sinks in. What’s the first thing you do?”

“Pour a glass of wine?”

“Nope.” She raised her phone. “You scroll through your phone and get ahold of that guy from college that used you for his booty call every time he was drunk. When he answers, he’s like, ‘hey, I was just thinking about you’ even though he hasn’t heard from you in five years. You invite him over, knowing it’s going to be nothing but sex. He comes over and within fifteen minutes he’s got you bent over the arm of the couch. The sex takes your mind off the car wreck.”

Mel was insane. Nevertheless, her explanation made sense.

Kind of.

I lifted my fork to my mouth. “When I have a car wreck, food is my crutch. I’m having sex with him because it’ll be fun.”

“As long as he doesn’t give you something.”

“I’m not going to ride him bareback, Mel. Jesus.”

“You can still get diseases.”

I liked to think of myself as an optimist. Mel claimed to be a realist, but typically pointed out the worst possible scenario she could fathom when it came to my life. When looking at herself in the mirror, however, she always seemed to do so through rose-colored glasses.

I rolled my eyes. “Why’d you ask what kind of bike he rode?”

“Because they’re totally different people. Harley riders are laid back, but they have terrible tempers. They’re like mixed-breed dogs. When they’re happy, everything’s good. But you never know what you’re going to get when they’re agitated. He could be a lap dog, or a vicious Pit Bull. You’ll never know until you poke him.”

“A mixed breed dog?” I lowered my fork and stared in disbelief. “According to who?”

“According to me. I’ve dated one before. He hated body hair, except on his face. His favorite food was hot dogs, no ketchup.”

“Wow,” I said jokingly. “He sounds like an unpredictable monster.”