“That’s your fault.”

“I know.”

I give up.

“You need to fix this. Go for it. Kiss her. Be the aggressor. Kiss her like you mean it, then screw her silly.”

“I don’t want to screw her silly. I want more than that.”

“A silly screw would be a start. You need to start somewhere.”

I hold the 55s over my head and turn, doing pivot lunges, calves screaming.

“You’re right,” I grunt out.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right.”

“About time you admitted it.” His face is beet red as he grabs a water bottle and chugs. Then he sets his jaw in a funny way, rubbing his chin as he watches me with cat-like eyes. “What about the wedding?”

“What wedding?”

“Jenny’s wedding.”

“You going?”

He gives a half grin. “Hell, yeah. I love it when my exes get married.”

“You slept with Jenny?”

“Years ago. Way back. She was fine.”

“Jenny and Carrie are best friends.”

“And Carrie needs a date.” Zeke’s words fill my living room. So does a strangely compelling odor. Some guys get sweaty and just smell like effort. Other guys get sweaty and smell like —

“Jesus, Zeke, did you have sex before you came over here?” I sniff the air.

“Yeah. Uber driver.” He grins.

“You had sex with an Uber driver?”

“UberX, man. Eight-passenger SUV. Nice, flat backseat. She had bottled water and snacks and everything.” He shakes his head. “Never knew how convenient those little travel packs of baby wipes could be.”

“You met a complete stranger through Uber and had sex with her in her car?”

“Trust me. Better than PlentyOfFish or Match.”

“Uber isn’t an online dating app!”

“It is now.”

“You reek of pussy.”

“Glad to know you remember what it smells like.”

“I know what it smells like.”

“I meant other than sniffing your own armpits.”

“Remind me why I am friends with you.”

“Because I give you all the good ideas. Ask Carrie to be your date for the wedding. We’re all going.”

“Why would I be her date?” He’s onto something, though.

“Because you like her. Because chicks love weddings. Weddings are like stirrups at the gynecologist’s office, mate.”

I don’t want to know.

He doesn’t wait for me to ask what he means. “They make women’s knees fall wide open.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not the one walking around with blue balls.”

“Speaking of blue balls,” I say, looking at the clock, “I need to go help my brother-in-law.”

Alarm fills Zeke’s face. “Man, have I been wrong about you and Carrie? You’re into guys now?”

“What? No!”

“Then how the hell are you helping him with a blue balls problem?”

“Babysitting. Remember the twins?”

“You mean the demon spawn.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“Those two little Tasmanian devils gave themselves a powder bath in my five gallon bucket of protein shake mix. Burned through a couple hundred bucks of whey. I’m still finding powder in crevices in my apartment after that time you brought them over. Why would you willingly babysit on a Saturday night?”

“To help my sister.”

“You gonna braid her hair too, mate, or is that just for women you’re afraid to hit on?”

“Shut up.”

“Ask Carrie to the wedding. Tell her something. Hell, tell her you’ll be her fake boyfriend. Anything to get an in.”

“An in?”

“Think about it. Spend a weekend on Cape Cod making her look good in front of her friends. She’s already been humiliated by being dumped by a guy who likes hot dogs more than vertical tacos.”

“Vertical…” My mind forms an image. “Jesus, Zeke. You’re disgusting. Seriously.”

“What? Tacos are delicious.” He winks at me. “Going as her date is genius. Tell her it’s all pretend. You’re doing her a favor. Be affectionate in public. Be the hot guy she landed on the rebound. Then make your move.”

I can’t believe I’m considering this, but he might be onto something.

“Offer to rescue her,” I say slowly.

“Right. Be the nice guy who’s going already. Give her a way to save face while you figure out how to get her to sit on yours.”

I throw a towel at him. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Telling you the truth?”

“Talking about Carrie like that.”

“Jealous?”

“No. Just… don’t.”

“You realize she’s hot, right? Hot enough for some other guy to make a move before you do.”

My balls turn into ice cubes at the thought.

“You need a date, anyhow. Something other than babysitting rugrats.”

I snatch the towel up and walk away. “Speaking of which, gotta shower.”

“That’s it? I thought we were lifting.”

I look at the clock. “Fine. Let’s run stairs.”

Zeke hates stairs. He groans.

I grin.

* * *

Walking into Carlos and Tessa’s house is like going to a daycare center run by hummingbirds who moonlight at Starbucks.

Before I can shout “hello,” I step on a pile of LEGO blocks, lose my balance, catch myself on the edge of the couch, and feel warm breath on my calves.

“UNCLE RYAN!” two little boys scream, lunging at me.

“Did you bring soda?” Elias asks, his little butt firmly on the top of my foot. His brother, Darien, is settling into the same position on my other foot. I carefully lift each foot, wondering if I could do toe lunges with one kid in each hand.

“Good thing your mom didn’t have triplets,” I announce, looking down at them. I feel like the Jolly Green Giant.

“Why?”

“Because then I’d need to grow a third foot.”

“But you can’t. You only has two foots,” Darien explains seriously. He looks like Carlos, with deep chocolate eyes and dark, wavy hair.