Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
EZRA
Yolo, call me. Uh, in case you didn’t know, Yolo means you only life one. So…
-Leif
“ Y ou didn’t even give him a chance.”
I poured more wine into her glass and set the near-empty bottle back down on the rustic purple coffee table. I really needed to stop staying over, I had my own apartment but half the time, I just stayed with Harper. No wonder I was in the friend zone, we had sleepovers like chicks.
Harper glared at me, even angrier than usual—though somehow still pretty—despite the terrifying face mask peeling off her cheek like a horror film extra.
“I mean, were you asleep during the part where I told you he brought a goldfish in a Ziploc bag to dinner? Or the part where he ordered me a potentially deadly dish, then pitched me a collab on organic tampons? ”
I snorted into my glass. “Classic. Bro came in with a goldfish. That’s next-level confidence. And as for the organic tampons, I hear it’s better for the vagina,” I added with a smirk.
She chugged her wine and glared over the rim. “It’s like you want me to slap you in the dick. Are you that desperate for action?”
I laughed. “Not that desperate, thanks.”
I shifted back on the couch and grabbed the Apple TV remote. “So… before you post your update, do you want Friends or New Girl ? You just binged Schitt’s Creek for the fifth time. You need something nostalgic.”
Harper plopped down beside me and laid her head on my shoulder.
I really wished she wouldn’t do that.
Not because I didn’t like it—because I did. Too much.
It’s like ever since this whole blog-your-exes circus started, my brain had glitched.
Or rewired. Or combusted. I felt everything more; every exhale in my direction, every time she changed perfume.
Every tiny Harper-specific quirk had carved itself into my consciousness like graffiti on a wall I couldn’t scrub clean.
And the worst part? The thought of her actually finding someone—choosing someone—made my stomach turn inside out.
Why was it so hard to say it?
Date me. Choose me. Try me.
Probably because she never had.
Not even once. Not even an accidental, drunken, regrettable kiss.
If it hadn’t happened by now, it probably wasn’t going to.
Life sucked sometimes.
I needed to move on. Do some me-work. Focus on literally anyone who didn’t make me want to rewrite the entire definition of friendship just to fit how I felt around her.
I told myself I’d help her this once—ride out the social media storm—and then I’d be done. If the Vex thing didn’t get her attention, I’d start my own path. Even if it meant walking in the opposite direction of hers.
I was pushing thirty.
Time to cut the apron strings.
Or maybe it was just the wine talking, because the next thing out of my mouth was:
“Can you set me up?”
The room went silent. Even the Friends preview stopped looping, like it knew something important was happening.
Harper jerked away from me. “Wait, what? You mean—you want to date? Like, a person?”
I glared. “No. A robot. Preferably AI. I’ll fall in love with her personality—humans be damned. Yes , a person.” I gestured dramatically. “I mean, I have Excel, and firewalls, and a smart fridge that judges my snack habits, but maybe it’s time.”
She leaned in, squinting. “Are you drunk?”
I flicked her nose. “Off life and cyber security, baby. You know it.”
She shook her head, grinning. “If I could find a girl who codes like you, it’d be a match made in Silicon Valley heaven. But the only single friend I have is Jen, and you said you’d rather burn alive than speak to her for more than thirty minutes.”
I cringed. “That might’ve been a bit harsh.”
Harper reached for her glass again. “She’s actually sweet. Loves animals. Want me to give her a call?”
Wait. What?
That’s it? No hesitation? No disapproval?
No jealous anything?
I stared at her, the burn of rejection hitting faster than the wine ever could.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I said flatly. “Or maybe I’ll just start a Tinder account.”
Her eyes widened. “So you want one-night stands now? Not commitment?”
I licked my lips. “So what if I do?”
She paused, like I’d short-circuited something in her brain.
“Well, I mean… those kind of girls—they’re not good enough for you.”
I frowned. “Okay, Pot. Enjoy the Kettle. You have, like, two accounts.”
She waved me off. “It’s different.”
I tilted my head. “How?”
She shrugged. “Because it’s you. I don’t know… I guess I always thought of you as—like, I don’t know. Asexual?”
My entire world stopped moving.
“You mean…” I swallowed hard. “You think I don’t want sex?”