Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(21)

Because I think I can cross flirting with Finn off my list.





Phoebe’s Guide to Losing Her Virginity in Thirty Days


A Checklist


Redownload Hinge

Practice Flirting with Teacher Rob Pet a dog with a cute owner and strike up a conversation Compliment a stranger on his outfit Flirt with someone at Jamie’s wedding Flirt with Finn Find the cutest guy on the plane to help me with my luggage Leave my number for a waiter Give Finn my number

Get a random guy to buy me a drink Get Finn to buy me a drink

Get drunk and make out with a stranger Rear-end a guy and exchange information Go on a date with one of the meet-cutes from above Go on a date with Finn

Go on a dating app date

Advertise myself on Craigslist Go on a date with Matthew





Notes


—Leave Teacher Rob out of this.

—You’re obsessed with tote bags for a reason. Carry one with you at all times. This will minimize the chances of bodily harm.





7


I spend a good amount of time examining the open wound on my left ass cheek in my bathroom mirror before I start to feel dizzy. It’s a deep cut, the kind that desperately needs Neosporin and a Band-Aid. I try to patch myself up once I dry off from my shower, but the placement of the cut makes it too hard to secure the Band-Aid properly. I shiver thinking about the fact that I’ll have to ask Jonathan for help once he gets back from work.

I’m not sure if it’s an anxious shiver or an anticipatory one.

After spending some time re-creating my Hinge profile and texting it to Jamie for approval, I open the third book in the FBI romance anthology I’ve been devouring. But for the first time since I started the series, I can’t focus. All I can think about is Finn, and all I want to do is talk to someone about him, but Alex, Jonathan, and Nora are at work, and Meg is probably still asleep on the bathroom floor. So I decide to FaceTime Jamie.

She answers on the second ring.

“I was JUST about to call you!” she says, beaming.

I can hear the clack of her heels on the New York City pavement as she walks home from the office. She looks so adorably professional in her blazer.

“Look at you! New York City’s hottest new editor.”

“Editorial assistant,” she clarifies, and I brush her off.

While Jamie and I are polar opposites in almost every way, our shared love of reading has always connected us. The fact that she pokes fun at my taste in books is beside the point. Working in publishing is the perfect job for her, and I couldn’t be more proud.

“There’s a pretty serious problem with your Hinge profile,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What is it?” I can’t imagine what could be wrong. I answered the prompts with an expert mix of comedy and earnestness, and the pictures I chose show off all my best features without being too in-your-face.

“Go look at the photos again,” she urges. “And this time, try looking at them through the perspective of a guy swiping through the app.”

I pull up my profile and begin to scroll. The first photo, which I chose because I like the way my curls look when I’m fresh out of the ocean, is of me and Jonathan on the beach.

Next is a photo of me and Jonathan at the blackjack table in Vegas. This one shows that I’m not afraid to have a good time.

The next photo is of me and Jonathan at—

“Oh.” Understanding strikes me as I scroll through the last three photos: me and Jonathan at the zoo, me and Jonathan Lady and the Tramp-ing a churro at the Orange County Fair, and me and Jonathan (and Alex!) splayed out on a picnic blanket.

“This is bad,” I admit. “It’s just that all of my best pictures happen to be with Jonathan.”

“Well then let’s make sure to get some good solo ones at the wedding.” She pauses long enough to shake her head. “I still can’t believe you’re not bringing him.”

I sigh. Everyone back home is devastated that I’ve decided not to bring Jonathan as my plus-one, but I’d rather go alone than subject myself, and him, to countless questions about our relationship.

“We can’t keep having the same conversation. You don’t ge—”

“No.” She cuts me off. “If you’re gonna start up on the ‘Jonathan’s too hot to want to be with me’ bullshit, I’ll hang up. I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t, Phoebe.”

“Okay,” I tell her. “Let’s talk about something else, then. I’m picking up my dress on Friday.”

This will mark my third attempt at getting my bridesmaid dress altered. The first seamstress I took it to hemmed it an inch too short, and the second one cinched it so tightly in the chest that my boobs were touching my chin. I thanked them both incessantly, told them the dress was perfect, and waited until I got in my car to start crying.

“You’re bringing Nora with you, right?”

I promised Jamie I would bring someone with a backbone to pick up my dress for the third (and hopefully final) time.

“Yes, I’m bringing Nora.”

“Good. I can’t wait to see you,” she says, and before I have a second to agree, she launches into a barrage of questions about school.

“How was your first day? How are the kids? Tell me everything!”