“So how are things with that delicious drop of ear candy? When is he gonna come and take you to lunch one day so I can see if the face and body match that voice?” Jermaine asks, narrowing his eyes at me.

It’s another slow day at work so we are up to our usual non-work-related chatter in customer service. I should have expected the conversation to eventually come back around to Rhys.

It must be something in the way I avert my gaze, or the scowl that comes to my face, or the fact that I don’t immediately answer, but Jermaine and Holly pick up on it immediately.

“Unh-uhh, I know that look. What did your man do to you, girl? Tell Mama J all about it.”

“Nothing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We just…we aren’t together anymore.”

“Why not?” Holly asks, then adds in a slight whisper. “Was it the photos we saw? I thought that was funny and cute.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” I say, laughing despite myself. Then, I frown as I remember the real reason. “It’s something else.”

“Well?” Jermaine asks, jerking his head with impatience.

I look back and forth between Holly and Jermaine. Peter is on his smartphone as usual, but concentrating a bit too hard for me to believe he isn’t also listening closely.

“Have y’all ever heard of a radio show, or podcast or something called…Sex on the Line? The host is Mr. XO.”

Holly just has a look of confusion on her face. Peter’s eyes suddenly snap up from his phone and stare at me with more than just passing curiosity. Jermaine is, of course, the one with the over the top reaction.

“Oh!” he says, pressing his hand against his heart and closing his eyes as though he’s just received the shock of his life. “Stop the presses, girl.” He opens them and glares at me so hard I actually draw back in surprise. “How the hell did Jermaine not figure that one out? Ya girl is slippin’, slippin’! I blame that boy’s voice. Gave ya girl’s brain an orgasm I never recovered from.”

Peter gives him a mild look of disgust, before turning his attention back to me with renewed interest. “You’re dating Mr. XO?”

For some reason, I’m appalled that Peter of all people listens to the show. Is he putting it all together in his head, specifically the most recent episode on virgins?

“What’s the show about?” Holly asks, feeling left out.

“Well…sex, honey,” Jermaine replies, giving her a patient look.

She tilts her head and gives him a condescending stare. “Well, I could figure that much out, but—”

“What’s he like in person?” Peter asks.

Jermaine pulls back and turns to look at him as though seeing him in a new light. “Well look who’s interested in more than that silly thing in your hands.”

“I’ve just never met anyone who dated a celebrity before,” Peter says, still looking at me like I’m an interesting specimen in a lab.

“He’s not a celebrity!” I say, mostly to reassure myself. The last thing this relationship needs is another celebrity. Or at least the relationship we once had. “Besides, I’m not dating him anymore.”

“Because of the show?” Jermaine asks, looking at me like I’m crazy.

I don’t want to come out and say it, mostly because it might remind the two of them of what the last episode was about, which would lead to the obvious conclusion about me. I’m not exactly embarrassed about it, but some things are best left private.

And yes, I understand the glaring irony.

“Oh,” is all Peter says, his cheeks actually coloring when he figures out exactly what I feared he would.

“Prynne, you ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed about. You got you a man who could melt even my panties off. And if he’s talkin’ bout you on that show of his, you know he ain’t talking about some other girl. You got yourself a built-in cheater detector with that show. Anytime the topic ain’t about you, you know he on the prowl. What more could a girl ask for?”

“What in the world are y’all talkin’ about?” Holly says with complete exasperation.

“Oh, honey, we’ll talk about it later,” Jermaine says, reaching over to pat her hand.

“I wish y’all would stop treating me like some clueless idiot!”

We all stare at her in surprise. I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen her angry.

“Now that…is exactly what you need to get that pretty ass of yours on the floor downstairs instead of workin’ up here on the phone lines, honey,” Jermaine says, circling a pointed finger Holly’s way.

Her cheeks are bright red, but her eyes are full of indignation. She looks surprisingly beautiful this way, like some innocent version of a mighty Greek goddess. She should get angry more often.

At the very least the focus is no longer on me. Jermaine once again has his hand to his chest, leaning back to assess her. Peter is just looking at her like she really is a goddess.

“Now see here,” Jermaine says, leaning in toward Holly, “next time when that bitch Camille comes at you and starts talkin’…”

I settle back in my chair thinking about what Jermaine said. A boyfriend, or at least a potential one, who basically airs his relationship status every week.

Is that something I can handle?

It’s Thursday evening and, oddly enough, I have the apartment to myself. It’s typical for Shiloh to get in late, though she’s promised, or rather warned me, that she would definitely be here to listen to Rhys’s next Sex on the Line show.

Usually, Caryn is around on weeknights, with or without Eric. Maybe he’s finally taken her on a date. That would be a rare occurrence.

Unfortunately, with no Shiloh to talk to and no Caryn to annoy me, that has the effect of leaving me with my thoughts. Should I or shouldn’t I listen tonight? What is the topic going to be? Something related to Rhys and me, or something completely off topic? I’m not sure which of those I’d hate more. I don’t want him discussing me, even tangentially, but I also don’t want to feel like he’s already moved on.

I should be working on my romance novel. I feel like Aiden and Mia are frozen in time, stuck in a period of stasis as Prynne Dawson figures out her own mess of a life. I can’t help but compare their eventual happy ending to mine—which is still very much up in the air. The last time I was typing, I banged the computer keys so hard my fingers started hurting. At this rate, the novel will never get written.

To occupy my restless mind, I’ve been watching The Thing, which is crazy good. Easily one of my top five horror films so far. The movie is at the scene where Kurt Russell is testing blood to reveal who is really who they say they are and who is a fraud—a little too similar to my own situation, frankly—when Shiloh breezes in.

She actually looks like she’s dancing on air. Ever since she started her new job, it’s been like this. If I had to come home after eight every night, especially after starting at nine a.m., I certainly wouldn’t look like I was walking on cloud nine. Especially, in those sexy, but crazy high heels she has on.

“Lights!” she says, instantly coming down from her high.

I reach out to turn on the lamp next to me and pause the movie as she flips the switch for the pathetic little ceiling light above the door. Shiloh is fine with scary movies as long as they aren’t mostly filmed in dark locations, which makes her panicky. One of these days, I’ll get her to spill about this fear of the dark she has. Once the room is well lit she falls down next to me with a wicked smile on her face.

“So, you ready for a little Sex on the Line?”

“I don’t know,” I say, mostly to get her to give me that extra push. I already know that my morbid curiosity will have me tuning in.

“Oh yes you do,” she says, not even remotely fooled. She stands up and grabs my hand, pulling me off the couch to follow her to her room.

“You get settled on the bed while I primp myself,” she orders, literally pushing me down onto the bed. Ten minutes later, she’s washed her face and changed into one of her fancy, silky things she sleeps in. She crawls up to join me on the bed, reaching over to grab her laptop on the nightstand next to her.

She looks at the time as she powers it on. “Just in time!”

I stare at the screen, biting my lower lip with apprehension.

“Ready?” she asks, turning to me with an excited gleam in her eye. Before I can answer, she’s pulled up the website for his show.

After a moment, that familiar voice of his comes on, actually filling the air around us with erotic electricity. No wonder so many people listen in.

“Ladies and gents, lovers and haters, sinners and saints…”

After the show is over, Shiloh closes her laptop and stares straight ahead in a daze. I watch her, waiting to see what she has to say about what we just heard.

She finally turns to me, looks me dead in the eye and says, “You are getting back together with him if I have to drag you back myself, kicking and screaming.”