Hazed (Palm South University)

I shrug. “It’s my gift. Now,” I say, spreading my hand over the couch. “Tell me what happened.”

With a sigh and another big swig of wine, Erin tells me about her Valentine’s Day with Gavin. It seemed to have gone off perfectly… until the end of the night, when he stopped short of having sex with her. She goes on to tell me that since that night, which was almost two weeks ago now, he’s been acting weird, and they haven’t hung out other than catching lunch between classes the other day.

Ouch.

“Okay, first of all,” I say, holding up my pointer finger. “What kind of asshole doesn’t trip over himself at the chance to have sex with you? I mean, look at you.” I gesture a hand over her body, but then wrinkle my nose. “Okay, well, maybe you’re not a sex kitten today, but on a normal occasion?” I scoff. “I’ve seen grown ass men ready to leave their wives and sell everything they own for a shot with you.”

Erin snorts. “I highly doubt that. But regardless… he just said he wants to move slow.”

“You’ve been together for, what… four months now?”

“About,” she says. “Depends on what you consider the point we got together.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “You went on a freaking international trip, for God’s sake. The fact that you didn’t fuck then is a miracle. But now?” I take a sip of wine. “And, furthermore, that he’s making it weird now? Being absent? I don’t know, Erin. I don’t like it.”

Her mouth pulls to one side, and she picks at the cuticles of the fingers holding her wine glass. “There’s more to it.”

“What more could there possibly be?”

Her eyes flick to mine then, but she pulls them away quickly. “It’s complicated. But I guess what I’m saying is I understand why he chose not to that night, but just… I don’t know why he’s been so distant lately. I’m worried I fucked it up.”

“If you fucked it up by wanting to sit on his cock, then I hate to break it to you, but the man is gay.”

Erin laughs. “Trust me. He is very much not gay.”

“Then, he’s stupid.”

“Jess.”

I throw my hands up. “Look, I’ll leave it alone if you want me to. It would probably help if you told me the whole story,” I add with a pointed look. “But as it stands? If he rejected you, then started acting differently and texting you less, calling you less, seeing you less.” I take a deep breath. “Those are red flags, Ex. That’s fuck-boy behavior.”

She frowns, sinking back into the cushions. “But we didn’t even fuck. That’s what’s weird about it.”

“You guys need to talk.”

“We do,” she concedes with a sigh. “But tonight, I just want to finish that bottle of wine, heat up a frozen pizza, and watch a thriller.”

I laugh at the last part.

Then, her big brown eyes are on me, lashes batting. “Will you join me?”

My eyes flick to the application on my laptop, and though I know it’s not very adult of me, I reach over and close the lid with a click.

My bestie needs me.

Reality can wait until morning.

“I’m all yours.”

THINGS COULDN’T BE MORE perfect.

On this warm February evening in South Florida, a gentle breeze rolling in from the water and brushing my long, curled locks off my neck, it’s impossible not to feel proud as I look around at the Ball & Pen launch event.

That I planned.

That I coordinated.

That I was one-hundred percent completely in charge of.

And that’s going off without a hitch.

At first, I was bummed when we couldn’t secure a yacht like I’d envisioned, but everything happens for a reason. In lieu of being on the water, we have a sweeping view of it — plus a dramatic outline of the downtown skyline as the last of the sun sinks over the horizon.

Not only did I book one of the most romantic, intimate rooftops in the city for the event, but my team and I completely transformed it. Dramatic red uplights and canopy-draped silk took what once was just a rooftop with a pool, a bar, and plenty of space to a high-end carnival.

Games of all kinds line the left edge of the pool, except instead of winning a giant stuffed teddy bear, guests could win a cocktail, or a dress rental from the hottest boutique downtown, or a designer watch, or — my personal favorite — a speedy ride in a luxury car across town.

Performers pepper the event space tastefully, everything from drag queens in all their carnival glory to hoopers, Lyra and silks aerialists, and even some of the women I train with at the pole studio.

Deep bass and high-energy lo-fi beats thumps rhythmically through the party, loud enough to dance to, but low enough not to overshadow the conversation. This is the kind of lighting, music, and event space that ignites deep thoughts, gives space for creative work, and illuminates endless possibilities.