Our feet hit the pavement with enough tenacity to destroy a village. The wind slaps our faces, but we push forward. This is our afternoon run. Nothing will stand our way.

“No fucking way!” Sandra exclaims. “Your high school boyfriend? That’s just too weird. I don’t believe it.”

“I’m telling you. It was him. We both realized it right after everything happened. Sandra, this is bad,” I say.

I feel winded from running, so I stop myself for a second. We both head to a nearby bench to cool off.

“Why is it so bad?” she asks. “He was a great fuck right?”

“I don’t care how good he made me feel,” I say. “He cheated on me in high school. He fucked some cheerleader at his school. He really broke my heart.”

“You’re crazy. That was like a million years ago,” she says. “You’re both in different places now. It’s all good.”

“No, it’s not all good. We did everything together back then. I mean, we went on family vacations together. It was like a really big deal,” I say. “And then my friend told me that he fucked Ms. Cheerleader. It was like my whole life had fallen apart. We were going to go to the same college and everything. He didn’t end up going to school at all.”

She nods, understanding the situation a little better. “Well, you’re going to have to stay away I guess,” she says. “No perfect dick for you. Sorry, girl.”

“God,” I sigh. “Why does this stuff always happen to me? It’s like right when I get into the game again, something has to screw it up.”

“It just isn’t right,” she says. “That’s life telling you that you need to keep looking.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep looking until I’m old and my house is filled with cats. Can’t wait for that,” I mutter. “Another Christmas alone.”

“Stop,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re a hot woman. Guys want to fuck you. They want to stick it in for years upon years.”

“Yeah and at least 98 percent of men are gross pigs,” I say. “I don’t want anything to do with those guys. I’ve been on dates with five men at my office. Five! And guess what, they’re all balding, they all have mommy issues, and they refused to go down on women.”

“They don’t go down on women?” she laughs. “What else is new? Welcome to dating men.”

“It’s like some weird complex or something.” I laugh. “It’s frustrating as hell, especially if they expect you to do the dirty on them.”

“And your ex went down on you last night?” she asks.

“It was the first thing he did,” I say. “And he got me off in less than three minutes.”

“Bullshit,” she says. “There’s no way he’s that good.”

“I’m not lying to you, Sandra. This whole thing has got me feeling crazy. It’s almost like I can’t adjust to reality now. I’m stuck in some weird dream world, where everything from my past has somehow come back to haunt me,” I sigh.

“This is really weird,” she says. “I’m thoroughly entertained.”

“Thanks, jerk,” I laugh.

“Well, it’s not like my life is going anywhere,” she says. “I have Jack texting me every minute. He is losing his mind. He’s been going through these crazy episodes where he literally cries on the phone, telling me I’m the only one for him. An hour later he will call me back to scream at me. It’s pathetic.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious answer to that,” I tell her. “Stay away. Stay as far away from him as you can.”

“I’m trying, but do you remember the other night when we went out together? I sometimes wonder if he followed me there,” she says, glancing around us.

“Like, what if he’s spying on us right now? It freaks me out, Olivia!”

I glance behind me too. “Why do men have to be so weird?!” I yell. A male runner pauses to look back at me. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“No idea,” she sighs. “But it looks like we’re stuck in their web of craziness.”

I have to laugh a little at the situation. “They always try and say we’re the crazy ones too,” I shake my head. “But, really, when you think about it, men throughout history have been creeps, violent murderers, and sociopaths. That’s about all they’ve done for civilization.”

“Cheers to that,” she says, lifting an invisible glass to me. Clink.

As soon as she says that, my phone vibrates. The text reads: “I am thinking about you. We should talk.” He must have grabbed my number from my phone.

“That snake!” I exclaim. “He took my number from my phone and texted me.”

“There you go,” she laughs. “They’re also thieves too.”

“What should I text him?” I ask her. “I don’t know what to do!”

“You kind of want to do this again. Don’t you?” she smiles. “Don’t lie to me.”

“No, I don’t!” I tell her. “I really don’t. I despise him.”

“You’re going overboard, girl. You don’t hate him,” she says.

“Well, if you’re so wise, how do I really feel then?” I ask her.

“You want him,” she shakes her head at me.

“I cannot go down that path,” I say. “Seriously, I’ll hate myself if I do.”

“Well then,” she says. “You have your answer, right? Don’t reply back.”

Later, however, when I’m leaving her house, I pull out my phone and stare at the text. It was good sex. It was fun to go out and be adventurous for once.

He is handsome as hell. Maybe I’m making this a bigger deal than it should be.

“Yes,” I type, “maybe we should get together and discuss things.”

Sometimes, you just want to get into trouble.