Fuck Ariana, marry Gal, kill Jennifer!

‘Wait, seriously?’ Emma demands, catching you by the shoulder. ‘You’d seriously fuck Ariana over Jennifer?’

‘I notice you’re not questioning my decision to marry Gal,’ you point out, smiling. Emma waves it aside.

‘Well, obviously. I mean, I’m relieved you’re a man of good taste – Gal’s definitely the sweetest one among them, even if she is a little older – but you don’t want to fuck Jennifer Lawrence?’

You struggle to put your decision into words for a moment. ‘Well…’ Then you have it. ‘It’s like Russell Brand says. If someone asked you if you wanted to fuck Jennifer Lawrence, you’d go, “well, I might as well.” Even if you weren’t that into her, you’d be like, she’s this gorgeous, talented actress, I’m not gonna refuse to have sex with this glorious creation.’

Emma studies you with eyebrows raised. ‘Somebody actually said that? In public?’

You fumble to find the YouTube link. ‘Here…’

When Emma’s finished watching it, she nods reluctantly. ‘That is funny. And it does make sense. But it still doesn’t explain why you don’t want to fuck her!’

You spread your hands. ‘It doesn’t? Like the man says, she’s a might-as-well fuck.’

Emma gives you a funny look. ‘A what?’

‘For me, anyway,’ you hasten to add. ‘Is she pretty? Fuck, yeah. Is she a nice girl? Most probably. But I just can’t seem to get up the enthusiasm to fantasise about her. Not like you.’

Emma is wearing an extremely dubious expression. ‘That’s really weird,’ she says, pursing her lips.

‘Hey, I didn’t judge your decisions!’ You sit up in bed. ‘Listen, I’m sure Jennifer Lawrence has been jerked off to by a sizable proportion of the human race. She sure as hell doesn’t need my approval. And she’s a fantasy fuck, all right – just not for me.’

Emma’s brow furrows, then clears; she looks unexpectedly pleased. ‘Okay. Cool. So, bye-bye Jennifer?’

‘Bye-bye Jennifer,’ you agree, sending her tab ricocheting off into the void. ‘Nothing personal, but I do really want to fuck Ariana Grande.’

A mixture of emotions flicker over Emma’s face, almost too fast to read; she’s wiped it clean again by the time you’ve blinked, poker face renewed. ‘Interesting. Why?’

‘Well, I obviously like shorter girls.’ You nudge Emma conspiratorially. ‘And I’m not a massive fan of huge boobs, so there’s that, too. Honestly, it’d probably be a pretty quick fuck,’ you admit, gazing mournfully at Ariana on the screen. ‘Don’t think we’d have much to talk about afterwards. But I really do want to hear her sing while I fuck her.’

Emma can’t contain herself at that. ‘Excuse me?’ she splutters. ‘How long have you been holding onto that fantasy, exactly? I could sing for you, if you’d ever asked!’

You slide a comforting arm around her bare shoulders. ‘Hey, hey. Rule number five of this game is we don’t make real-life comparisons, okay? It goes without saying that I’d rather fuck you than any of these girls.’

Emma subsides, looking at least a little bit pacified. ‘Rule number five? What’s rule number one?’

You meet her eyes steadily. ‘Don’t talk about fuck club. Which is also rules two, three and four.’

Emma shakes her head, but laughs anyway. ‘Okay, I walked into that.’

‘So…’ You look back at the screen. ‘Marry Gal, because, duh, she’s Wonder Woman. Also adorable, and definitely a least a little bit lesbian. So we could seduce her together.’

Emma’s mouth opens. ‘You’re making that up. She is not!’