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“We are here to celebrate, not differentiate. You know we got your backs. Besides. If you ever break up, you’ll be the ones it’s weird for. Me and Nick are forcing you to eat a family meal every week. For the kids. You know. Us.”
    “Brosophocles, we’ve been best buds since college. Literally everyone saw this coming since about sophomore year.” Nick waves him off. “Hell, I’ve got still got a pool we made without telling you a few years ago. I’ll need to check the dates, but someone just won a lot of long-deserved money.”
    Ted flushes. “We were just such good friends. It took a long time to take the leap.”
    “For you, maybe.” Ben flashes him a grin, and I can’t help but beam like a motherfucker at my best friends. “A pool? Damn. I wish I’d have known. I’d have put money down myself.”
    “I’m so effing happy for you guys,” I say. “Today just can’t get any better, seriously.”
    “It sure can!” Nick holds out his glass in preparation for another round of cheers.
    “No!” Ted says, in on something I don’t get.
    “Yep.” Nick beams like a dude after his first dino lay. “I’m proposing to Becca today.”
    “No way!” Ben exclaims. We all bang glasses. Soon enough, that’ll be the only banging Nick gets, amirite? “That’s awesome, dude.”
    Nick looks happier than I’ve seen him in a while. Congratulations make their way around the table, and we dig into our food. This is the best part of Buddy Lunch. I don’t get how girls can talk while they eat. We just stuff our faces in mutual silence, in appreciation of the cow that sacrificed itself for our badass lunch.
    Ohm. Moo. Nomnom.
    “All right, bros.” I pick my teeth as I slap down some bills with the other hand. Cause I’m sexy. “I’ve got to get to work. If anything crazy happens, text me. I need to get ready for the big romance writing conference tomorrow.”
    “Tap dat ass!” Nick hollers. Ben and Ted roar in laughter. They don’t truly understand how this is, you know, my job . They just see all-female-everything. Well. I mean, maybe I do too, I just know this is not a get-laid conference. It’s a networking opportunity. However, I have a rep to keep up.
    “Don’t be jealous.” I dust off my shoulders. “Nothing better than thirsty girls trapped in a hotel ballroom.” Although I have learned rapidly that like ninety-nine percent of lady romance writers are happily married to men who I assume do continue to get laid.
    I head home, feeling on cloud nine. My best friend is proposing to his longtime girlfriend, two of my best boys are finally hooking up, and I cracked the Amazon Top 100 in less than twelve hours. Can life get any better? Hell no. Fortuna hath smiled upon me! (If you are a believer in Roman goddesses, and I always believe in hot chicks that bring good luck.)
    Best of all, I’ve got a decent buzz going on. I swing by the corner store on my way home and grab another four-pack of Tank 7 to tide me through the rest of the evening. My best work is done when I’m drinking. “Write drunk” and all that jazz. Hemingway was a damn genius. Not my cup of tea, works-wise, but he knew what’s up when it comes to writing.
    And really, can anyone be expected to imagine the mechanics of anal with a dinosaur sober? Certainly not.
    My bulldog, Gus, is waiting for me at the door when I get home. I toss him a bone from a bowl by the door and get down to work. First up: buttsex with zombie robots. Buddy Lunch always gives me the best ideas. The Man Circle has a filthy hive-mind, and I love the shit out of them for it.
    Before I dive into writing, I do a few tai chi movements to stretch myself out. Gotta be limber before writing about doing it in the butt. Plus, it helps keep up my physique, which is Dude Who Likes Beer but Sometimes Works Out. That’s not Dad-bod. Totally not. I hate the gym, and I hate running, but I can do enough around the house to keep me from falling into total disarray. I