“You are not with me,” I said.

“Well, not technically,” he replied, shrugging. “But that could change.”

“Look,” I said as the bartender dropped three plastic cups in front of me, “I’m not-”

“I see you still have my number,” he said, interrupting me and grabbing one of the beers. He also slapped a ten down, which redeemed him a bit but not much.

“I haven’t had a chance to wash it off.”

“Will you be impressed if I tell you I’m in a band?”

“No.”

“Not at all?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “God, I thought chicks loved guys in bands.”

“First off, I’m not a chick,” I said, grabbing my beer. “And second, I have a steadfast rule about musicians.”

“Which is?”

I turned my back to him and started to elbow my way through the crowd, back to Chloe. “No musicians.”

“I could write you a song,” he offered, following me. I was moving so fast the beers I was carrying kept sloshing, but damn if he didn’t keep right up.

“I don’t want a song.”

“Everybody wants a song!”

“Not me.” I tapped Chloe on the shoulder and she turned around. She had on her flirting face, all wide-eyed and flushed, and I handed her a beer and said, “I’m going to find Jess.”

“I’m right behind you,” she replied, waggling her fingers at the guy she’d been talking to. But crazy musician boy kept after me, still talking.

“I think you like me,” he decided as I stepped on somebody’s foot, prompting a yelp. I kept moving.

“I really do not,” I said, finally spying Jess in a corner booth, head propped on one elbow, looking bored. When she saw me she held up both hands, in a what-the-hell gesture, but I just shook my head.

“Who is this guy?” Chloe called out from behind me.

“Nobody,” I said.

“Dexter,” he replied, turning a bit to offer her his hand while still keeping step with me. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she said, a bit uneasily. “Remy?”

“Just keep walking,” I called behind me, stepping around two guys in dreadlocks. “He’ll lose interest eventually.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said cheerfully. “I’m just getting started.”

We arrived at the booth in a pack: me, Dexter the musician, and Chloe. I was out of breath, she looked confused, but he just slid in next to Jess, offering his hand. “Hi,” he said. “I’m with them.”

Jess looked at me, but I was too tired to do anything but plop into the booth and suck down a gulp of my beer. “Well,” she said, “ I’m with them. But I’m not with you. How is that possible?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s actually an interesting story.”

No one said anything for a minute. Finally I groaned and said, “God, you guys, now he’s going to tell it.”

“See,” he began, leaning back into the booth, “I was at this car dealership today, and I saw this girl. It was an across-a-crowded-room kind of thing. A real moment, you know?”

I rolled my eyes. Chloe said, “And this would be Remy?”

“Right. Remy,” he said, repeating my name with a smile. Then, as if we were happy honeymooners recounting our story for strangers he added, “Do you want to tell the next part?”

“No,” I said flatly.

“So,” he went on, slapping the table for emphasis, making all our drinks jump, “the fact is that I’m a man of impulse. Of action. So I walked up, plopped down beside her, and introduced myself.”

Chloe looked at me, smiling. “Really,” she said.

“Could you go away now?” I asked him just as the music overhead cut off and there was a tapping noise from the stage, followed by someone saying “check, check.”

“Duty calls,” he said, standing up. He pushed his half-finished beer over to me and said, “I’ll see you later?”

“No.”

“Okay, then! We’ll talk later.” And then he pushed off, into the crowd, and was gone. We all just sat there for a second. I finished my beer, then closed my eyes and lifted the cup, pressing it to my temple. How could I already be exhausted?

“Remy,” Chloe said finally in her clever voice. “You’re keeping secrets.”

“I’m not,” I told her. “It was just this stupid thing. I’d forgotten all about it.”

“He talks too much,” Jess decided.

“I liked his shirt,” Chloe told her. “Interesting fashion sense.”

Just then Jonathan slid in beside me in the booth. “Hello, ladies,” he said, sliding his arm around my waist. Then he picked up crazy musician boy’s beer, thinking it was mine, and took a big sip. I would have stopped him, but just the fact that he did it was part of our problem. I hated it when guys acted proprietary toward me, and Jonathan had done that from the beginning. He was a senior too, a nice guy, but as soon as we’d started dating he wanted everyone to know it, and slowly began to encroach on my domain. He smoked my cigarettes, when I still smoked. Used my cell phone all the time to make calls, without asking, and got very comfortable in my car, which should have been the ultimate red flag. I cannot abide anyone even changing my station presets or dipping into my ashtray change, but Jonathan charged right past that and insisted on driving, even though he had a history of fender benders and speeding tickets as long as my arm. The stupidest part was that I let him, flushed as I was with love (not likely) or lust (more likely), and then he just expected I’d ride shotgun, in my own car, forever. Which just led to more Ken behavior-as in ultraboyfriend-like always grabbing onto me in public and drinking, without asking, what he thought was my beer.