Seventeen
I haven’t woken up naked next to a man in a very long time. The last guy I dated, Joel, we never got to the sleeping-together bit because there was too much about him I knew I’d never get past—how he talked with food in his mouth and only tipped waitstaff 10 percent, even if they were really attentive, and how he would slap my ass when we walked through Costco and tell me, “More squats, less pasta,” and how all he ever talked about was his sports-betting site and how rich he was going to be once it took off.
I only went out with him because every time I’d pop by to meet Bryony for lunch, Joel would come to the front desk and flirt like a dying man. And he was good-looking. He had a good job, drove a BMW (that I later learned was his mom’s), and he talked about how amazing the d
