“It’s not a date,” I say through my teeth. “He’s a friend. An old friend.” “Whatever you say.” I don’t like the knowing look on Margie’s round face. “It’s not a date.” “Well, why not?” She blinks at me. “Is he ugly? Ugly men are good in bed, you know.” Oh God. “Margie…” “I’m just saying,” she says, “there’s nothing wrong with going on a date. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”
