“Right,” Zach said, as though he actually remembered Lennie. “Thinning hair, glasses?”
“That’s him. He’s a shrink.”
“I don’t think you seeing a psychiatrist counts as a date.”
“Funny. I wasn’t seeing him. I mean I was. God, you’re impossible.”
Zach laughed and reached into a small bag in front of his seat and pulled out dark sunglasses, which he set upon his face. “How many Lennie dates?”
I tried to recall. The truth was they were all entirely unremarkable. “Five. Four. Five.”
He snorted. “Did he fuck you?”
“Jesus, Zach.”
“Oh, don’t get all prim and proper on me. Did he?”
“Er.”
“That means no.”
“He tried. He wasn’t successful.”
“Dysfunction?”
“Yep.” I shrugged. “I did get a rather sloppy blowjob out of it though.”
“All right,” Zach said. “Lennie sort of counts. Who else?”
“I don’t know. Jeez. You know I’m not like you.”
“I’m not asking you to be like me, Michael.”