I love you too, she says. He tries to suppress his frustration and says, I said beer. She calls her friend. And so their book writes itself.

He leans in for a kiss. He imagines the sweet taste of her lips. Their exquisite softness. And then he opens his eyes only to find her gone.

Everyone at the party is handsome and pretty and well dressed and smells nice and he takes it all and thinks, I’d have sex with all of them.

He paints the walls in the front hall and she says, I like that color. He says, It’s the color of the wind. Then she doesn’t like it anymore.

The laughter died down and he said, That’s the last time I bet on love, and then he remembered who he was talking to and he said, I’m sorry.

He put down his drink. She had just astonished him. He adjusted himself. She made note, and tasted victory. You’re not man enough, she said.

Our team wins. An eruption of genuine euphoria. The bartender says, Drinks on the house! I put my money down. Don’t harsh my ideology, I say.