“You did what?”

“You heard,” she whispered, aware that some other diners were eavesdropping.

“But you were gonna cram for that exam, get your apartment parent-clean, and-.”

“But he called-.”

“You have to stop dropping your life for him! He hasn’t been your boyfriend-.”

“I know,” Bella looked down.

“You didn’t-?”

“No, we haven’t since-.”

“Phew.” I looked at her guilt-ridden face. “But, you still-?”

“Don’t-.”

“How many times does the ass hafta dump you before you get over him?”

“I can’t help it. Every time he calls-.”

“You rush over like a boy on a booty call, ‘cept you know you won’t be getting any booty. It’s – a platonic booty call, which is so many different types of pathetic.”

“We’re friends-.”

“No, we’re friends, which is why I wouldn’t do that.”

“I can’t help how I feel-.”

“We have to find you some kind of 12-step program.”

“Or a lock-up rehab.”

“You could call his other ex and form Ryan Anonymous,” I half-joked.

“You’d make a better sponsor.” She finally smiled.