Free Lengths by Liz Reinhardt, Steph Campbell Page B

me closely. “I don’t sleep with broken-hearted guys. It’s too pathetic.”
    “I’m not broken-hearted,” I insist. “I’m just in a slump. Which I’d have such an easier time getting out of if you’d take off that dress. I feel like I have to wear sunglasses when I look at it.”
    “Wow, you’re so charming, how could I even consider saying no?” she asks dryly. “Look, we’ve been buds forever, Deo, and I treasure that. And when we were more than buds? That was also awesome. But times are changing. We’re growing up. Well, some of us are.” She puts her hands up to her face. I look at her with confusion. She picks up the bottle of nailpolish and holds it like she’s on a cheesy advertisement poster. I wrinkle my forehead. “Deo! You noticed the color of my dress, but not this ?”
    I sit up against the headboard and look at her hands. Among the silver sparkling rings is a particular one with a deep green gemstone on her all-important left ring finger. “Uh, is that supposed to be an engagement ring?”
    She throws her hands in the air. “It is an engagement ring. I didn’t want a blood diamond, so we opted for a fair trade stone.” She looks down at it, her face droopy with disappointment, and I feel like a huge jerk-off.
    “Hey, it’s really nice,” I say. She doesn’t look up. “Sunshine?” She glances at me. “Seriously. It’s beautiful. And I’m happy for you. I’m happy you’re sober, I’m happy the pottery thing is taking off, and I’m happy for the lucky bastard who conned you into marrying him. Tell that fucking punk I’ll beat his face in if he doesn’t treat you right.”
    She falls onto me, her warm, sun-dried sheet smell surrounding me as she hugs tight. “Thank you. So much. I wanted to tell you a hundred times, but I thought you might be upset.” She pulls back and looks at me, those blue eyes shiny with tears.
    I snort. “Upset? Me? I love you, kid. I want to see you happy. If this fair-trade-ring-buying douchehole makes you happy, you have my blessing. C’mon, you know all that.”
    She twists the ring on her finger. “I really am happy, Deo. And I wish…” She looks up and licks her lips. “I wish you could find someone for yourself. I know what we had was just fun. But I really think you’re amazing. And I know the right person is out there for you. Somewhere. I know she’s going to make you so happy. Maybe it’s this girl, right now.”
    I chuckle and take her small freckled hands in mine. “You’re sweet, babe. But this girl? She’s not…this girl isn’t the one for me. We’re, like, from two different worlds, you know? She’s got complications I’m not about to get involved in.”
    She raises her light eyebrows high.
    “What?” I ask.
    “Nothing.” A knowing smile quirks on the side of her mouth.
    “What?” I demand again.
    “Nothing! It’s just that you always take the easy way out, Deo. I mean, I know you never really thought you and I would get serious, but you’ve been calling me for, what, two years for booty calls? And you had to have had fifty girls you were interested in all that time. It was always the same damn thing. One, two, maybe three dates, then things were ‘too complicated.’ I think it’s code.” She flicks her hair again like a damn know-it-all.
    “Code for what?” I tuck my arms behind my head and look at my old friend and former fuck-buddy, the now-engaged Cara. Unreal.
    “Code for ‘maybe I like this girl.’ Code for ‘things are getting real, so maybe I’ll pull back like an enormous pussy.’” She crosses her arms over her chest.
    “Ooh, did you just pull out the ‘p’ word? Your feminist teachers would blow a gasket,” I say to dodge the point she’s trying to make, but that I don’t want to hear.
    “Desperate times call for desperate language,” she sighs. “Look, I know you better than a lot of people. And I care about you. I really do. I’ve never seen you mourn a girl this long. Maybe