Just One of the Guys. Kristan Higgins

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      His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Of course you’re…well, okay, maybe pretty’s not the right word. Striking. How’s that?”

      I roll my eyes. “Kind of crappy, to be honest. Striking. As in striking out, as in ‘When will A-Rod stop striking out in the post-season?’ Or as in a protest, as in ‘We’re striking because conditions suck.’”

      Trevor grins. “Let’s switch you to some water, what do you say?”

      “Come on. Tell me.”

      “Tell you what, Chastity?”

      “Well, you slept with me. You must have found me attractive, right?”

      Trevor freezes, his beer halfway to his mouth.

      “Columbus Day weekend, remember?” I continue. “My freshman year of college. You—”

      “Of course I remember, Chastity,” Trevor says, his voice low. “I just wasn’t aware that we were going to discuss it. It’s been, what, twelve years? Maybe I could get a little warning next time.”

      “Don’t get all prissy,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “So?” My tone is nonchalant, but my face, I note, feels warm. Scorpy II tells me not to worry.

      “So what?” Trevor says, his face stern.

      “Well, you must have found me somewhat attractive, right?”

      “Of course I found you attractive,” Trevor says carefully, shifting his gaze to a point to the left of my head. “You’re very attractive.”

      “But…” I prod.

      “But nothing. You’re attractive, okay? You’re unconventionally beautiful. Don’t let that scrawny little weenie make you feel insecure.”

      “I’m not. Just wondering—if men find me attractive.”

      “Well, I’m wondering if you need something a little more substantial than nachos. How about some dinner? Want a burger?”

      “I’m not hungry,” I say around the last mouthful of nachos.

      Trev runs his hand through his wavy brown hair, hair I’ve always loved. Thick, rich, wavy and tousled, the color of black coffee, silky smooth…I’d better stop. He’s looking at me oddly. “So what do you want from me?” he asks.

      Four children. “Just be honest.”

      “About what?”

      “About men and me.”

      There must be something in my expression that makes Trevor take pity on me. “Chastity,” he begins. “Men love you. You’re lots of fun. In fact, you’ve always been one of the—” He breaks off suddenly.

      “What? One of the what? One of the guys? Is that what you were going to say? That I’m one of the guys?” My voice is shrill. And possibly a little loud.

      “Uh, well, in a good way, you know?”

      “How is that good?” I demand.

      Trevor winces. “Well, you know a lot about sports, right? And many men enjoy sports.” I groan; Trev grimaces. “And you play darts and pool and stuff like that. Um, we all had a good time doing that triathlon with you a couple years ago. The MDA thing?”

      I sigh and reach for my Scorpy, but Trevor has moved it out of reach. He pushes a glass of water toward me instead. I roll my eyes…one seems to get stuck…and look once more at Mr. New York Times. I wish I was married to him. I wonder if there’s a way I can convey this somehow. Look over here, buddy. Marry me. He smiles at something his white-haired companion says and continues to be unaware that his soul mate sits just yards away.

      Just then, the pretty, slutty, number-giving-out waitress reappears with yet another Scorpion Bowl. Even in my tipsy state, I realize that Trevor is right and I shouldn’t drink another drop. Then, realization dawns in a glorious sunburst. Someone is sending me a drink!

      “From a potential friend,” Slutty Waitress says, her voice loaded with meaning, and sets the glass in front of me.

      Well, this is a change! Someone is interested in me! How thrilling! My cheeks flush in pleasure. Thank God! Talk about the cavalry rushing in just at the right moment! Just when my ego lies twitching in the gutter, someone has sent me a drink! Oh my God, could it be from Mr. New York Times? No wonder he wouldn’t look at me…he’s waiting to see my reaction! A surge of adrenaline floods my chest, and my eyelids seem to be fluttering. I glance over. He’s still not looking. Must be shy. How adorable!

      “Is it from the—” god “—man at that table?” I ask, gesturing in his general direction.

      “No. From the…person? Over there,” the waitress says. “At the bar.”

      Heart thumping, I crane my neck to see who it is. Trevor does the same.

      Sitting at the bar, looking at me with a smile, is a woman. She lifts her beer glass—I’m guessing Miller—and salutes me. Because I don’t know what else to do, I wave back weakly. She’s fairly attractive, with short dark hair and a pleasant plumpness to her, and she seems to have a nice face. However, this doesn’t erase the fact that I’m not a lesbian. Trevor covers his eyes with one hand. I suspect he is laughing. His mouth twitches. Yes. Bastard.

      “Could you…could you tell her…I…it’s just that…” My face is flaming.

      “She’s spoken for,” Trevor manages to say somberly. “Thanks anyway. You can take the drink back.”

      The waitress nods, takes the glass away and undulates her ass inches from Trevor’s shoulder. I put my head on the table.

      “Oh, Chas,” Trevor laughs. Without lifting my head, I give him the finger.

      He gets out of his seat and comes to sit next to me, putting a brotherly arm around my shoulders. “Don’t be glum, Chas. Things will work out.”

      “Blah blah bleeping blah,” I mutter, resisting the urge to punch him in the kidney. Such platitudes are as about as helpful as tossing a bowling ball to a drowning man. I hate the fact that I put up with the tepid and freckled Jason, even for a few weeks. Hate it that Mr. New York Times is miles out of my league. Hate the fact that I’ve just been mistaken for a lesbian.

      It’s not fair. Here’s Trevor, the vagina magnet, able to seduce in ninety seconds. My brothers, ranging in age from thirty-eight to thirty-two, have to fight women off with a Taser and a sturdy chair. Yet somehow, at just past thirty, I’ve become a pariah. Mention my age to a man and he looks stricken, as if I’ve just told him exactly how many viable eggs I have sitting in my ovaries and how very much I’d like them to be fertilized. It’s not fair.

      As I sit next to Trevor, the embodiment of everything good in a male, my first love, the first man I slept with, the man who I’m just going to have to get used to seeing with other women, I make a vow.

      Things are going to change. I need to fall in love. Fast.

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