was doing what, with who, how much money they lost at the gaming tables. We could do the same thing.”
“Can we not keep comparing ourselves to those guys? They lived two hundred years ago—they didn’t have Hulu or Game of Thrones. They were bored and didn’t have phones and only banged their wives to get them knocked up. We have phones. We are not bored—you are. We can bang whoever we want, whenever we want.”
I think he’s completely missing the point. “The point is, let’s have a little fun. Let’s put a few wagers down on paper like they did in the old days.”
Blaine has been quiet for a few moments, finally breaking his silence to say, “I have fun with Bambi.”
Bambi isn’t fun—she’s someone who monopolizes my best friend’s time to the point where he rarely sees us anymore. She tells him when to jump and how high. Some might call her insufferable—I mean, honestly, the woman insists on being named after a fictional cartoon deer.
We’d be doing him a favor if we got him to break up with her.
I study the ice in my glass. “Really? You have fun with Bambi?” I squint in his general direction, clearly skeptical. “Do you though? You can still have sex with someone, but does it have to be the same person?” Does it have to be her?
“Uh—yeah. I like having sex with the same person, you asshole. I’d rather not get a sexually transmitted disease by sleeping around.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“No, I think you are.” Blaine’s dark brown eyes get darker the more pissed off he gets. “You sound sexist and like a woman-hater.”
“Me, sexist? I love women!”
“You haven’t loved anyone since Kayla dumped you six months ago. You’re bitter and nasty.”
So what? Am I not entitled to be hurt?
Kayla was my first true love, the first woman I let myself fall in love with, the first woman I’ve felt anything for. I let myself be vulnerable, let myself get lost in her, let myself depend on her for my happiness.
Then she dumped me without warning.
Ghosted me, really. No texts, no voicemails. Blocked me from her pages and from her life, offering me no closure.
It was devastating.
I ignore Blaine completely. He’s unbearably in like, and right this second, I don’t want to hear about it. “Dude, write this down. Rule 1: No member of the society shall date the same person exclusively while an active member of the society.”
“What if we get invited to something, like a holiday work party?”
“That’s fine, as long as you’re not exclusively dating. That’s what exclusive means, dipshit. Rule 2: No seeing the same woman more than three nights a week. Mix it up.”
Blaine nods. I can’t tell if he’s on board just yet or if he’s just being agreeable, but at least he’s entertaining the idea. “Right. Okay.”
“Rule 3,” Phillip adds. “No giving gifts.
“That would be impossible since you have no money.”
He clearly disagrees. “Just so we’re clear, I have some money. I can pay my rent. Shut up.”
Yeah, the rent on his shithole apartment, but who’s judging? We’ve all been there, though I wasn’t as old as he is while I was living in a dump. My first apartment was in an old building and I shared it with two other dudes; we were all in college and scraping by. None of us had jobs, let alone careers.
Benji and Miles were fucking fun roommates. I wonder what they’re up to these days. Should definitely look them up when I get back to the office in the morning…
“Rule 4: No marriage or babies.” Phillip throws this down with a superior tone, crossing his arms and nodding.
Blaine scoffs, sipping his cocktail. “Who the hell is going to have a baby?”
“Uh, I don’t know about you, but my boys are strong swimmers. There’s a chance I’ll get someone knocked up.”
“You better start putting a lid on it then,” Blaine tells Phillip. “No riding it raw.”
Riding it raw. Who are these guys? Jesus.
Certainly no one wants any illegitimate babies running around.
“Rule 5: We don’t speak of the BBS.”
“The what?”
I roll my eyes. “The Bastard Bachelor Society.”
“Oh. Right, I forgot.”
“Rule 6.” Blaine still looks a bit like he’s been whipped, but at least he’s getting into creating the rules, contributing. “Never let a girl wear your BBS smoking jacket—that shit is sacred. Never, not even after sex, and not even if she’s hot as fuck.” He pauses. “Do you think we should have them monogrammed? I have an uncle