Veronica rolled her eyes. “First of all, it’s three bangs, not three dates.”
My brow quirked. “Who doesn’t bang on a date?”
She ignored me. “And second, that rule is so stupid. And I say that with love. Think of how many relationships you’ve missed out on.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Listen, a multitude of things can happen after the three-date zone, and I don’t want to deal with any of them. Either I’m bored or I try to climb up their b-holes like an enema. Either they blow up my cell phone or get stalky. Or they propose marriage, like Clay.” I gave Ramona a pointed look.
“What? He flew here all the way from Italy to ask you to marry him. What was I supposed to do? Leave him in the hallway with two dozen roses and that look on his face?”
“No, you should have called the cops. The last thing I expected was him sitting naked on my bed looking like he’d delivered me everything I’d ever wanted via Lufthansa Airlines. I had to fake a headache and let him cuddle me, pretend all the next day that things were cool. I couldn’t break up with the psycho until he left for the airport.”
Veronica laughed. “Oh, which one was the baby-talk one?”
I groaned. “Derek. My God, he drove me nuts. We would get tacos, and he knew I liked the chips that were like three chips wrapped up together, so he’d dig through the basket, hand them to me, and watch me eat them.”
They laughed, and I kept going, always happier with an audience.
“The baby talk though, that was the worst. I wuv you a yacht. I wuv you a whole FLEET of yachts! Aw, schmoopsie-poo. Are you a sheep or awake?”
Ramona waved her hand with the other on her stomach as she laughed so hard that she was barely making noise. “Oh my God!”
“Seriously. But he was so hot. I mean, how could I resist a firefighter? With that ass? And that smile? I was willing to overlook a lot for bunker gear and smelling like a campfire.” I sighed. “But I mean, those guys are so much easier to deal with. The real kicker is when I go bonkers. Like when I was five dates in with Tony. Remember him?”
Veronica sighed wistfully. “The one who could cook.”
“Right? Dude made his own pasta. Fucking dream guy. But, I swear, I was begging to meet his mother by date five — after I told him no strings, and he was so about it. He slowly backed toward the door, said he’d call me, and I never heard from him again. There’s a chance he died in a gutter somewhere, but I’m pretty sure it was from his phone exploding from the eighty-four-thousand text messages I’d sent him. And that was just a mild case of stalking — I’ve crossed the line so many times, I’m surprised I’ve never had the cops called on me.”
“You’re too cute for jail,” Veronica said with a laugh.
“Not when my crazy eyes get going.” I crossed my eyes and drew a circle in the air around my ear. “Rodney trained me to trust no man, so ninety percent of the time, I convince myself they’re lying to me about where they are, what they’re doing, how they feel. I go clinger. I’d rather be clung to.”
“I dunno. See, I disagree with Veronica,” Ramona said. “I think the rule makes sense. Penny, you’re larger than life. I’ve been friends with you for eight years, and I’ve seen how guys treat you. Every hetero man in the room notices you when you walk in. It’s like every curve on your body is sending a signal directly to them. They want to know you, and some, like Rodney, want to control you. This is a way for you to protect yourself against the whole thing. You break hearts so yours doesn’t get broken. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll meet somebody who changes your mind.”
I laughed. “God, I hope not.”
She smiled like she knew better than me. “How long have you been on the three-date wagon now?” Ramona asked.
“Two whole years,” I answered, proud of myself. “Two years of normal dates with no crazy on either side of the line. Everything has been perfectly smooth ever since I really decided to stick to the rule. This is better for all parties involved, trust me. I’d rather not put my heart through the meat grinder again, thank you very much.”
Veronica snickered. “She said to her friend whose wedding is in two weeks.”
“Oh, stop it. That’s what I’m saying — Ramona and Shep are perfectly perfect. I’m just a mess, like Courtney Love but with tidier makeup.”
But Ramona’s face had fallen into a sad expression. “Two weeks. That’s all we have left for this.”