Playing With Matches

Your friends are sluts, my boyfriend said when he called me.

I had been sending him texts about our girls’ weekend at Dewey Beach. My friends felt a lot of guys were dew-able. 

Your friends are fun, he said.

The first night there, one of my friends went home with a guy. She returned to our room livid, screaming, “Small thingy, hairy balls, and no condom.” (I’ve never seen someone so mad that they didn’t get laid.)

The next afternoon, she met a boy at Jam Session, then took him back to our hotel. (Since she had been so upset the night before, she was given special permission to break our no-boys-in-the-room policy.)

The sex was great.

Did you get his number? I asked.

I didn’t even get his name, she said.

Later that night, she ran into the guy she went home with the first night. She thought he was really cute. She didn’t recognize him, he had to tell her that he was the guy she hooked up with the night before.

The next day, after a round or two of Dewey Devils, she met another boy. This one, she actually saw after we got back to D.C.

I hadn’t talked to her all week, but I heard they went on two dates.

I told you I slept with him, right? she asked me.

Uhm, no, I just heard you guys went to dinner.