Eight o'clock on a Friday night and I'm driving to his apartment again. It's become a weekly ritual, even if it's only been three weeks. Friday night is girls' night, which means Pashmina's out at a club or a slumber party or who knows what with Sandy and Bijou, maybe Penelope too, depending on what it is they're getting up to. Thank God for girls' night.

I won't pretend I'm proud of the fact that I haven't told Pashmina about this. She hasn't said anything about us being exclusive yet, but I guess that's not exactly an excuse for actively hiding my relationship with Dexter from her. Of course, I say 'relationship' in the most basic sense of the word. It's not like we're boyfriends or nothin'.

Anyway, this is really his fault, come to think of it. He was the one who told me to ask her out 'cuz he'd 'lost interest'.

"I'm done with the whole thing," he'd said. "Honestly, I guess I was only chasing her to annoy you. She's not really my type." At the time, I didn't realize that his 'type' was guys. More specifically, me.

"Well, that's boring," I'd told him. "Where's the fun in chasing tail if there's no competition?"

"She still has to agree to go out with you," he'd reminded me. "Good luck with that."

But she did agree, and I guess Dexter wasn't expecting that, seeing as she'd never shown any interest in me before. Turns out the reason she wouldn't date either of us before was that she didn't want to ruin our friendship – Pashmina's thoughtful that way. If I'm to be honest with myself, I probably don't deserve a gal as sweet as that. In any case, once I explained how Dexter was movin' on, she didn't even hesitate.

That was three weeks ago today, when I'd asked her out. We'd set a date for Saturday night since Pashy had her girls' night on Friday, so I'd called up Dexter and invited myself to his apartment to share the news over a few beers. And maybe rub it in his face just a little.

'Course I'd expected him to be surprised, maybe even a little pissed, that she'd been so eager to go out with me as soon as he'd dropped out of the race. But when I told him I had a hot date with Pashmina lined up for the following night, he'd looked hurt. He'd actually tried to sound supportive, happy for me, even, but I could see right through him.

"You're upset." That's what I'd told him.

"No, I – I'm just amazed that she actually said yes," he'd replied, but his smile was forced.

"Bullshit!" I'd known him long enough to know when he was lying, and he should have known that I would know. "You told me you weren't interested in her anymore. I thought you'd be okay with this!"

"I am okay!" he'd asserted, even less convincingly.

"No, you're not!" I was shouting at that point. I hated that he was lying to me, and that he thought I was dumb enough not to see through it. "Don't bullshit me! You still like her, don't you?"

"No, I swear," he said. "I don't – it's not Pashmina." For the first time, it didn't come across as a blatant falsehood. So I'd gone along with it.

"Then what?"

He'd looked away then, turning his gaze to the floor, like he didn't want to tell me. I was about to press him further when it dawned on me.

"Dex, if it's not Pashmina, then the only reason you could possibly be upset about this is if you like me."

He hadn't replied, but I saw a startled expression in his eyes as they darted in my direction and then, quickly, back at the floor.

"It is me, isn't it?"

Still no reply, but that was okay, because I had more than enough to say for the both of us.

"God DAMN it, Dex!" I grabbed him by the stupid collar of his stupid blue button-down shirt and shoved him against the stupid wall. It was probably a bit of an overreaction, but I was so confused and angry at the time that I wasn't making any effort to hold myself back.

"Why?" I'd demanded. "Why are you telling me this now? How long have you felt this way?"

He seemed dazed. He wasn't making any effort to push me away; he just gave me a lost, apologetic look and said "A couple years, I guess."

"A couple years?" I was incredulous. All this wasted time. "And you never told me?"

"I didn't think it was a good idea," he'd admitted. "Since you're not – you know…I knew there wasn't any possibility of anything happening, and it would just make things weird between us."

"God DAMN it," I repeated. "Dex, I can't even begin to tell you how much – how long I've wanted you." It was the truth.

His expression changed from one of dismay and regret to utter astonishment.

"Then why – you're so mad at me for never saying anything, but what about you? You never told me – "

"How many hints do I have to drop?" I was frustrated beyond belief. "All of the times I've commented on how dashing you looked, all of the Valentine's Day gifts, hell, there were even a couple of clearly flirtatious emails –"

"I always just assumed you were joking!" he groaned. "Because that's what you do, Howdy, you joke around and you make fun and you're never serious about anything, so how the hell was I supposed to know how you felt? Do you really think I'm just that dense?"

"You are that dense," I'd insisted, my hands clenched so tightly around the collar of his shirt that I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms from the other side of the fabric. "You are a dense, clueless, moronic, lying little shit!"

He gave me a look then that I knew all too well – a look he reserved for our most bitter disputes, one of intense rage bordering on hatred. I honestly thought he might just up and slug me. Instead, he grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed his mouth against mine.

I'd never kissed another guy before, and I guess I never realized what I was missing. Women are fantastic – they're so soft, and curvy, and I can't argue with a nice pair of tits. But there's something about a guy's mouth. Gals, when they kiss – at least the few I've had any experience with – they're gentle, light, slow. Romantic, I guess. When Dexter kissed me, it was rough, forceful. There was an intense passion behind it that I realized was, at least in some part, anger-driven. And it turned me on more than anything I'd felt before.

Five minutes later he was sitting on the couch and I was on top of him, straddling his hips. His hands were at my waist and our lips were still locked together. But when I started fumbling with the top button on his shirt, he'd suddenly pulled away.

"Wait," he'd said, pressing both hands against my chest to stop me moving any closer. "Howdy, I –as much as I want this, we shouldn't. We can't. You're with Pashmina. I can't do that to her."

"It's just a date," I'd insisted, pushing his hands away so I could get at those buttons again. "She's not my girlfriend. For all I know, she could be hitting on some stranger as we speak. Maybe they're having girls' night at the singles' bar. Don't make any difference."

"First of all," Dexter replied, clearly perturbed now, "you know as well as I do that Pashmina's not that kind of girl." He grabbed both of my wrists to impede any further progress on my part – I'd made it to three buttons at this point. "And secondly, even if she isn't your girlfriend, that doesn't give you liberty to do whatever you want if the two of you haven't made your expectations clear. How would you feel if she'd asked you out, and then you found out she'd slept with someone else the very same day?"

I conceded defeat in my efforts to relieve Dexter of his shirt at that point, sighed, and slumped back onto the couch.

"Fine, you're right." He was right. But after a few moments of silence between us, I decided to press my luck. "Can I crash here tonight? I have had a few drinks. It would be irresponsible to let me drive home."

"I'll call you a cab."

"Why? I ain't yellow, and I certainly don't charge by the mile." I gave him a smirk. He rolled his eyes, clearly unamused, as always, by the pun.

"You know what? Fine. Ok. You can stay here," he finally agreed. "But you're sleeping on the couch."

"Whatever you say, Doctor Decorum."

I didn't sleep on the couch that night. Or the following Friday.

And I don't intend to tonight, either.