Dating Advice

“Dude,” Mosche said definitively once Sabrina was in your room.

“Yeah, I know,” you said.

“No, dude,” he said. “I don’t know whether to be pissed at you for having two girls that look like Gemma and Sabrina, or if I should be paying you for lessons or something. And they both know about each other?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “They even came up with some rules for us to work by and everything. Gemma is my girlfriend, Sabrina is my friend with benefits.”

“Ugh,” Mosche sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t even get a date and you’re juggling like a master.”

“What about that Tasha girl?” you asked. “She was cute and is in the same scene as you. And she’s Tantric Sex Girl, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, his hands over his face and muffling him as he kept his head back on the couch.

“So have you asked her out?” you asked.

Mosche just shook his head.

“Well, why not?”

Mosche lowered his hands heavily, flopping them to his sides. “Because if I ask her out and she says no, it’ll make things weird. And if I ask her out and she says yes, and the date goes badly, it’ll make things weird and everyone at the club will hear about it. And even if she says yes and it goes well, then everyone at the club will know she’ll date comics and they’ll hit on her even more and she’ll probably find someone better than me.”

“Jesus, Mosche,” you said, then hesitated. “Wait, do Jewish people say something other than ‘Jesus’?”

“No,” Mosche said. “Well, I guess you could say like, ‘Abraham!’ or something, but it doesn’t have the same impact.”

“Alright, well… Jesus, Mosche!” you said again. “You need to build up your confidence and stop giving so many fucks. Which, I’ll admit, is rich coming from me since I stumbled ass first into this situation. But I’ve learned really quickly that being honest as hell and taking risks is just going to lead to better things.”

“That’s not helpful,” Mosche said. “Do you know how often a kid like I was gets told that growing up?”

“Probably the same amount as I was,” you said. “Look. Ask out Tasha. You have plenty in common, and she’s talking to you about sexual stuff. You do realize that’s called flirting, right?”

“Is it?” Mosche asked. “I don’t even know anymore. She also asked about you and Gemma a lot, especially after she apparently saw your dick from on stage?”

“That… is not exactly what happened. She asked Gemma how big I was, and Gemma showed her through my pants,” you said. “It’s not like I whipped it out on the table or anything.”

“Well, you might as well have,” Mosche muttered. “Tasha mentioned you and Gemma like five more times during the rest of the night.”

“Well, what was she saying?” you asked.

“She would say shit like how cute you two were together, and how you must have taken Gemma home and were railing her with your… yeah. And she was talking about how much she could use a good fuck from a guy with the balls to get a girl like her,” Mosche said.

“Oh my God, dude,” you said. “She was literally waving you into her bed like an air traffic control guy with the big glowy sticks.”

“What? No,” Mosche said.

“She told you she wanted to get fucked,” you said. “What did you say?”

“Um, I guess I probably said, ‘Yeah, haha,’ 'cause I felt awkward as fuck.”

“OK. It’s Saturday night. Do you know where she is right now?” you asked.

“No, I’m not like stalking her or something,” Mosche said.

“Yeah, but she’s not performing at another open mic or anything, right?”

“Not that I know of. If there was one I’d be there,” he said.

“OK, here’s what you’re going to do,” you said. “You’re going to call her. And you’re going to say this exactly. Are you ready to hear this?”

“Yes, fine. What am I supposed to say?”

“You say, ‘Hey Tasha. I was clueless last night. If you still want to fuck, I’ll bring shawarma for an after-fuck snack.’”

“But I don’t like shawarma,” Mosche said.

“Oh my Lord, dude,” you said, throwing your hands up in the air. “It’s not about the shawarma. Swap it out for whatever other takeout you can get at this hour. Just fucking call her.”

“Fine, I’ll call her,” he said. “But I’ve never been on a booty call before.”

“It’s only a booty call if you only have sex,” you said. “That’s what the food is for. Take it from Booty Call to… I don’t know. Booty Call Plus.”

“Is this really going to work?” Mosche asked.

“Only one way to find out,” you said, turning towards the hallway, and then remembering to grab your bag of chips from the kitchen. “Dude,” you said, coming back into the living room with the bag folded over on itself, only about one-third full.

“Oh, shit,” Mosche said. “I forgot I ate some last night.”

“Whatever,” you said. “Call her.” You started down the hall to your room but stopped, “And by the way, Mosche? You did better last night. And you definitely weren’t the bottom-rung guy anymore.”

“Really?” Mosche said, perking up like a golden retriever.

“Yeah,” you said. “Keep it up. And, honestly, consider what I said about women to be true about comedy. Honesty and confidence.”

It really didn’t matter to you if Mosche actually called Tasha or not. Especially once you opened your bedroom door to find Sabrina’s shoes and bag on the floor, and deeper in her dress, and after that her thong and bra.

Sabrina smiled from your bed, under the covers but holding them open for you. She was wearing one of your shirts and it seemed that was it. “Hey, baby,” she said. “Get your laptop, I want to cuddle and we have more episodes of Castle to watch.”

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