A Savage Tale

Dan Savage was the kind of guy who blended into the background like wallpaper—red hair just a shade too dull to call carrot top, a jawline softened by years of desk-hunched study, and a wardrobe that screamed "laundry day is every day." Even his voice had a habit of dissolving mid-conversation, as if apologizing for taking up sonic space. People forgot his name five minutes after introductions, and sometimes, if he stood still enough, they'd walk right past him in grocery store aisles without a second glance.

Which was why Ellie almost choked on her iced coffee when Micky leaned across the sticky diner booth and hissed, "Oh my god, you’ll never guess what my sister told me about your boyfriend’s stepbrother."

Ellie wiped spilled coffee off her wrist, already half-convinced this was another one of Micky’s bullshit stories. "What? He secretly breeds ants or something?"