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“I’m coming too,” Jay stands, throwing his jacket back on. Jeez, he’s tall. I’m six foot-four and he’s close to my height. He’d make a great second row—him and Marco both. Wonder if I could convince them to join our DIII club team?
We step outside to a bright spring afternoon, when I ask him, “Jay, have you ever played rugby?”
“No,” he says curtly. “Now, tell me exactly what happened with you and Angie.”
Choking on nothing, I then turn to him and lean over to peer down at Cora on the other side of Jay. “Excuse me?”
“You heard him,” Cora says. “We want to know.”
“Didn’t she already tell you?”
Jay scoffs. “That wasn’t nearly enough intel. We need the play-by-play.”
When did this fifty-three-degree spring day start to feel like Florida in July? But I plaster a smile on regardless. “Guys, we literally called you from the scene of the—” I cut my own words off as they both stare wide-eyed at me. “From my bed. We got too drunk, blacked out, and woke up there. It’s not the first time something like that has happened.”
“Mhmm,” Cora hums with a furrowed brow.
Jay opens the storefront door to a Middle Eastern restaurant. “You both skirted my question before when I asked what you were wearing.”
“I…was wearing what I always wear to bed: boxers.”
“Wait,” Jay stops me in front of the hostess stand. “Boxers or boxer-briefs?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It certainly does!”
“Boxer briefs, okay?”
Jay gasps. “You slut.”
“You know you’re my HR Director, right?”
“No, I’m your friend right now,” he says, shaking his head. “Now tell me, what color were the boxer-briefs?”
The hostess gives us a weird look but takes three menus and leads us to a small table where we sit.
“Does color honestly matter? Guys, I’m telling you, nothing happened.” They both stare silently across from me, making me uncomfortable with their gaze. When I can’t stand it anymore, I open my menu and pretend to read it before clearing my throat and whispering, “Black.”
It’s Cora’s turn to gasp. “You like her.”
“What?” I hiss. “How did you—I usually wear black. Where the fuck is this coming from? I’d also like to know what color boxer-briefs would indicate that I’m not a slut and not interested in my best friend?”
“Orange,” Jay says flatly.
“Novelty patterns,” Cora adds.
I stare at the menu again and shake my head slowly. “Alright, looks like I’m picking up some new underwear today to convince you two freaks that I’m not into her.”
Why are they pressing me about this? Cora has been around me and Angie since before we could legally drink—so why is she suddenly suspicious of our platonic relationship?
“You know what sounds good?” I ask, ignoring their interrogation. “Chicken shawarma.”
Jay leans his forearms on the table and clasps his hands. “There was tension at your housewarming party, dude.”
“No, there wasn’t,” I say defensively.
“You almost kissed,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
