Page 53 of Clinically Awkward

“You’re whistling,” Fitz said, circling me like a shark who had just detected blood in the water. “You never whistle. And you’re smiling. Actually smiling. Not that sardonic half-smirk thing you do when you’re internally mocking someone. A real, genuine, ‘I-just-had-fantastic-sex’ smile.”

“I’m not—I don’t⁠—”

“Oh my God, you did get laid.”

“Fitz.”

“Who was she? Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Blonde? No, brunette. Definitely brunette. You have a type. Probably works in healthcare too. Maybe a pharmaceutical rep? They’re always⁠—”

“I didn’t get laid,” I lied, and wow, I was a terrible liar. Even I didn’t believe me.

Fitz’s grin widened. “You absolutely did. This is amazing. The great Quinton Wesley, sworn enemy of romantic entanglement, finally broke his celibacy streak.”

“I’m not celibate. I’m selective.”

“You haven’t dated anyone in two years.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been scared.”

“I’ve been strategic.”

“You’ve been a coward.”

I was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his psychological analysis when he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Speaking of romantic conquests,” he said, “I have to tell you about last night.”

Oh God. Here we go.

“Fitz, I really don’t need to hear about⁠—”

“Her name was Destonie,” he continued, completely ignoring me. “With an ie, not a y. Very important distinction. She was very specific about the spelling.”

“I’m sure she was.”

“Met her at that new wine bar on Chapel Street. Absolutely stunning. Legs for days. Works in marketing for some tech startup. Very into hot yoga and true crime podcasts.”

“Sounds like every woman in New Haven.”

“She was special, Quinton. We had this incredible connection. We talked for hours about—well, I don’t actually remember what we talked about, but I’m sure it was profound. And then—” He paused dramatically. “We went back to her place.”

“Congratulations on your continued ability to sleep with strangers.”

“It was magical.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“There was this thing she did with her tongue⁠—”

“Nope. No. We’re not doing this.”

“—where she would⁠—”

“Fitz, I swear to God.”

“—and then I woke up this morning, and she made me breakfast. Breakfast, Quinton. Pancakes. With fresh berries. Do you know how rare that is?”