The reader beams at me, mistake already forgotten, and scurries off with her book. When I look back to find the man, he’s gone. “Addie, you need to get laid." In response, I wrap my lips around my straw and slurp my blueberry martini as deeply as my mouth will allow. Daya, my best friend, eyes me, entirely unimpressed and impatient based on the quirk of her brow. I think I need a bigger mouth. More alcohol would fit in it. I don’t say this out loud because I can bet my left ass cheek that her follow-up response would be to use it for a bigger dick instead. When I continue sucking on the straw, she reaches over and rips the plastic from my lips. I’ve reached the bottom of the glass a solid fifteen seconds ago and have just been sucking air through the straw. It’s the most action my mouth has gotten in a year now. “Whoa, personal space,” I mumble, setting the glass down. I avoid Daya’s eyes, searching the restaurant for the waitress so I can order another martini. The faster I have the straw in my mouth again, the sooner I can avoid this conversation some more. “Don’t deflect, bitch. You suck at it.” Our eyes meet, a beat passes, and we both burst into laughter. “T suck at getting laid, too, apparently,” I say after our laughing calms. Daya gives me a droll look. “You've had plenty of opportunities. You just don’t take them. You’re a hot twenty-six-year-old woman with freckles, a great pair of