The Breakaway(44)

In her room, she lit the crushed-mint scented candle she’d packed and savored her long, hot shower, twisting her torso from side to side, raising her arms over her head, rolling her neck. She’d just gotten out of the shower when her phone dinged with an incoming text. Probably Mark, she thought, who’d been keeping her entertained with pictures of feet and a link to a story about a college classmate who’d started doing low-cost vasectomies out of a van he’d nicknamed the Neuter Scooter. Abby was looking forward to telling him about the day’s ride and how, as she predicted, the men had been the ones almost getting into accidents, or drifting toward the center of the path, or the road, completely oblivious to other bikes and cars. Lizzie’s theory was that men rode their bikes the way they moved through the world—heedless, confident, making it everyone else’s job to get out of their way. Women were more cautious. They followed the rules and were careful about staying to the side of the road, about observing stop signs and traffic lights and calling “On your left!” when they passed. Many men—maybe most men—couldn’t be bothered.

She wrapped her hair in the special microfiber towel she’d packed—the one guaranteed to keep her curls from frizzing—picked up the phone from where it was charging on the bathroom counter. Mark hadn’t texted. Lizzie had.

Is this guy on the trip? she’d written. Below the text was a link to TikTok.

Abby knew the text was a peace offering. She and Lizzie hadn’t spoken since Eileen’s surprise appearance at the park. Yesterday, Abby had fired off a WTF!?!? text, with a picture of Eileen on the trail. Call me. I’ll explain, Lizzie had written. So far, though, Abby hadn’t called.

She sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hand. Lizzie joked that she was the oldest woman on TikTok, and would tell anyone who listened that she’d only joined to keep up with her teenage nieces, but the truth was, she was just as addicted to the app as any Gen Z-er. Rarely a day went by when Lizzie didn’t send Abby a video she’d seen: a viral dance, workout tips, recipes, makeup reviews, a video of a cat in a tie, or one featuring a mom who’d single-handedly remodeled her laundry room during her newborn’s nap time. Smiling, Abby clicked the link. She felt her smile fade as she saw Sebastian’s face in the center of a WANTED poster, and felt it vanish completely once she’d skimmed a few of the 3,467 comments underneath the video, which revealed that Sebastian had worked his way through seven of the original poster’s eight-woman friend squad.

“Oh my God.” Abby tossed the phone aside, feeling as breathless as if she’d been punched. Then she made herself pick up the phone and watch the video again, shaking her head in dismay. Of course Sebastian had turned out to be too good to be true. Unicorns weren’t real, and neither were handsome, nonproblematic single guys who were both sexual savants and into her. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Sebastian had to have acquired his superlative bedroom skills somewhere, and now Abby knew precisely where, and had a rough idea with how many whoms.

She ate another one of Mark’s chocolates, swallowed hard, and looked down at her phone’s screen. “I KNOW THIS GUY,” AnnaCabana had written. So had IllieBeilish, Liminalia, Cass247, BellaLuna, and FondaWand15, who wrote, “His name is Sebastian Piersall and he works for Scoop.com.” There went the last, lingering shred of doubt she’d held on to, Abby thought. She forced herself to keep reading.

“Ladies, best get yourselves tested for STIs,” PhantaRay6 had written. Abby shuddered. “He’s a 10, but his body count is higher than your town’s population,” User27847 had said. “IS HE TRYING TO FILL A BINGO CARD?” asked NikkiMenage.

One comment that read “This is slut shaming. We get mad when guys do this to us. Let’s be better” had gotten 365 likes, while one that read “He could at least branch out and try some different zip codes” had gotten 1,454. And on and on it went. Commenters of both genders hailed his commitment to diversity or joked about his endurance. Some guys were trashing him. Others were defending him or just offering him virtual high fives.

Abby shook her head. Then she called Lizzie.

“It’s the same guy, right?” Lizzie said. “I remembered the name from the trip roster, and I figured there can’t be that many Sebastian Piersalls in the world.”

“Yes,” Abby said. Her voice sounded leaden. “Same guy.”

“I knew it!” Lizzie crowed. “Hashtag Kissing Bandit!” She lowered her voice. “Lucky you. Your very first time as ride leader, and you’ve got a celebrity!”

Abby closed her eyes. “Lizzie,” she said. “Do you remember the guy I met when I went to New York for Kara’s bachelorette party?”

The ensuing pause felt like it lasted for a very long time. “Oh, Abby,” Lizzie finally said. “Oh, no.”

Abby didn’t answer. Lizzie said, “Well, that was, what, two years ago? Maybe he wasn’t, you know, um…”

“Sleeping with everything that has a pulse back then?” Abby said. She pressed her fisted hand between her eyebrows. “I feel so stupid.”

“Why?” Lizzie asked. “How does this make you stupid?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not stupid.” Abby bit her lip. “Basic. Gross. Not special,” she said. “And the thing was…” Abby squeezed her eyes more tightly closed and made herself say it. “I liked him.”