Truth be told, I feel a flicker of excitement too. I’ve been itching to get out of the house, away from the same walls and routines. And Steve seemed decent enough—or at least helpful—when Timmy had that stint in jail. It’ll be nice to break the monotony.
When Steve pulls up, Matty decides to come along, and we all pile into Steve’s car, with me riding shotgun.
At first, everything seems fine.
We head up to a scenic lookout with sweeping views of the coastline, the kind of spot that feels like it belongs in a postcard. The ocean shimmers in the sunlight, and I snap photos, grateful for the brief peace. The guys chat aimlessly—surf spots, old friends, random gossip—while Timmy cracks open a hard seltzer.
At first, I sip mine slowly, letting the cold fizz settle on my tongue,but Timmy downs his like a man stranded in a desert. One can, two cans, three—all within minutes. His hyperactivity, always present to some degree, skyrockets in Steve’s presence. He fidgets in his seat, his words coming out in rapid bursts, his thoughts scattered like confetti. It feels like he’s performing for Steve, trying to impress him, and the manic energy is unsettling.
Something in the air shifts as Steve cracks a crude joke about an old classmate. “Remember Cindy at school? Ooooh man. Her tits were fire. Damn, I wanted to fuck her so bad. And Chelsea? Goddamn.” His voice is laced with lecherous nostalgia.
A pit forms in my stomach.Thisis the guy I thought was the mature, responsible friend? I thought Steve was a career guy, a horseback park ranger with a family. But here he is, talking like a horny teenager. It makes me uncomfortable, the way he talks about women like they’re objects from a buffet line. Instead of the good guy I thought he was, he’s actually turning out to be quite a douche. If I misjudged Steve this badly, what else have I misread?
We drive past a bar, and Steve leans forward, grinning. “Oh my god, remember Emily? Met her here once. Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He groans in his seat, like just the memory is enough to make him swoon or potentially jizz his pants. It’s pathetic.
Then he swerves the car toward a random woman walking along the street. “Ooooh, look at her.” She’s just an ordinary person minding her business, but the way Steve gawks makes it seem like she’s some kind of goddess descended from the heavens. It’s over the top, crass, and chauvinistic.
For once, Timmy stays cool. He glances at me, noticing my discomfort. “Keep your eyes on the road, Steve,” he mutters, sounding exasperated, although his face is plastered with an amused grin. I breathe a small sigh of relief. At least Timmy isn’t feeding into Steve’s nonsense too much—yet.
We stop for pizza, and it’s the kind of pizza that makes you want to close your eyes and savor every bite. Perfect crust, bold flavors—easily one of the best I’ve ever had. But while I’m enjoying the food, I notice Timmys’ seltzer buzz has now escalated into full-on drunkenness.His movements are a bit wobbly, and he’s saying increasingly silly things.
Steve, noticing Timmy’s intoxication, tells him he can’t have any more beer, and insists that he can only take sips of mine. I’m grateful for Steve’s moment of responsibility, so I let Timmy steal a sip—but then he takes another, and another, until half my beer is gone.
Timmy leans in for a selfie, his lips crashing into mine in a sloppy kiss. He’s in one of his drunken, affectionate modes, where every kiss is supposed to feel passionate but ends up sloppy and overwhelming. It’s an odd combination—feeling cherished and grossed out at the same time.
At least he isn’t being crude like Steve. If there’s one thing I can say for Timmy, it’s that he seems to know where my line is when it comes to talking about women. He might need to dial it back in other areas, but at least he seems to understand that kind of disrespect would be a dealbreaker for me.
Or so I thought.
As we drive back, Steve brings up one of Timmy’s exes for no apparent reason. “Hey, remember Barbara? Kicked you out of the house with that eviction notice?” Steve chuckles like it’s the funniest story in the world. “And remember her super hot friend, Madison.”
Timmy’s eyes grow dreamy, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, Madison,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the same lecherous nostalgia Steve has been displaying throughout the outing.
At first, I roll my eyes and laugh it off. But he keeps going, recounting every detail with more and more enthusiasm. “She tricked me into letting the cops in,” he says with a grin. “But man, she was so fucking hot.”
My stomach tightens. “Stop, Timmy. Please.”
I’m quickly realizing that Steve has this uncanny ability to trigger Timmy’s spectrum of inappropriate emotions, in this case taking him from anger at an ex to perving about some girl.
Although, I guess I have the same ability to push his buttons, too. He’s told me so a few times now. Under the guise of “we’re connected on such a deep level that I feel what you feel and vice versa. And youreally know how to upset me and use things I told you in confidence against me.” Both things I don’t believe I’ve ever done, although the opposite could be said about him.
“Oooh yeah,” grins Timmy, continuing the conversation about ‘hot Madison’.
“Stop, please,” I plead.
He laughs, ignoring me, caught up in his own story. “I would’ve let her stay in my apartment anytime,” he leers.
“Timmy,” I say, my voice sharper this time. “Please—stop.”
But he just keeps going, encouraged by Steve’s laughter. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion—every word a new collision, every laugh a reminder that they don’t care how uncomfortable I feel.
I’ve never, in my history, had to ask a partner to stop speaking so disrespectfully in front of me about another woman.
“Shut the fuck up, Timmy!” I snap, my voice rising. “Just shut the fuck up!”
The car falls silent for a beat, the tension thick enough to choke on. Steve glances at me in the rear-view mirror, and then at Timmy, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he finds my outburst amusing. Like this was all some sick game to him, and he’s enjoying the fallout.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—Steve knew exactly what he was doing. As if he intentionally lit a powder keg to watch it go off.