Page 20 of I Think He Knows

“I’ve never been one to objectify men, but that is a seriously nice butt.” Mindy points a marinara-dipped breadstick at the TV, sending a spray of saucy droplets in every direction.

Mindy’s always been good at making herself completely at home in my home. Or in anyone’s home, really.

I arrived home a while ago in a somber mood after my pizza-making date with Andrew the podiatrist (which ended very awkwardly, by the way), to find my sister-in-law camping out on my doorstep with two huge bags of Olive Garden takeout. Apparently, she was bringing me dinner as an apology for setting me up with her Kermit-loving “friend of a friend of a friend” Billy last week. But she’d forgotten to actually tell me about this apology plan.

And truthfully,I’dall but forgotten about Billy and Kermitgate.

But never one to say no to toasted ravioli followed by Chocolate Brownie Lasagna for dessert, I accepted her apology and here we are: Mindy, sprawled on the couch with Harry Styles curled up in her lap while she shamelessly objectifies a butt on TV, and me, seated beside her and shoveling brownie pieces into my mouth while trying my best not to stare at said butt like a lovesick puppy. Because, of all the movies in the world that we could’ve watched tonight, Mindy had to choosethisone.

Rubbing salt in the wound, really.

“Oh, please.” I take a sip of my wine, then raise a wry brow at her. See, I’m cool. I can watch this movie and be cool. “You objectify men like it’s your job.”

“Wrong.” Mindy rips her breadstick in half like a cavewoman. “Iusedto objectify men like it was my job. Now, I only objectify Luke,” she says cheerfully. I give her alook. “And that incredible butt on TV.”

Mindy then goes on to grab the remote and pause the movie on a close-up of the derriere in question.

Fabulous.

Just to be clear, we’re not watching anything weird. It’s a regular old movie, and the zoomed-in shot on the TV belongs to an actor who is fully clothed in a regular (but very well-fitting) pair of chinos.

But that’s no regular actor.

“Tell me you don’t agree,” Mindy continues, and when I don’t respond, she pokes me in the side with her pink-socked foot. “And before you start on the ‘but Mindy, you’remarried’ train, I’ll have you know that there’s nothing wrong with married people stating facts. Plus, Luke is a man who’s comfortable enough with his sexuality to agree that we’re talking about an objectively nice rear end.”

I can’t help but snort at this. Because while Mindy may have zero filter, she is one hundred percent right on two counts. One, Iwasabout to go and get all judgey on her, and that would’ve been totally without cause because I know that she’s just messing around and she adores my oldest brother (to whom she’s been happily married for the past year).

And two, she’s correct that Luke’s the kind of guy who can objectively appreciate another guy’s,ahem, assets in an entirely heterosexual fashion. Case in point: at his bachelor party, he took the guys ax throwing, then had way too much to drink (which sounds like a recipe for ending up in the ER, but anyways), and proceeded to smack Mindy’s dad on the butt and tell him that he looked like a total stallion for a man in his sixties.

I think Mr. Greene was actually pretty flattered.

“Can you unpause that?” I ask.

“Not until you agree with me,” Mindy says. “Or at least tell me why you’re being so weird right now. Anddon’teven try to blame it on Allegra walking in, I know she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

I lean forward to snag another piece of toasted ravioli from the mess of takeout cartons and cram it in my mouth. I may not have a man in my life, but at least I have pasta. Which is arguably better.

And yes, I already ate an entire pepperoni pizza earlier this evening. I will not be judged.

“Lan, talk to me,” Mindy presses. “Is this about Billy still? Because, girl, that was like aweekago. And besides, Billy’s small fry. You haven’t even been out yet with that doctor from my work. He’s a doctor, Lana Mae, a sexy doctor! He said he might be interested, you know—”

“No,” I interrupt swiftly, then take a glug of wine for liquid courage. Because the last thing I want right now is another Mindy set-up. I may need to continue my dating quest, but I’m certainly never going to let Mindy set me up again. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. And it’s not about Billy.”

“What is it, then? What’s up with you?”

I sigh. If I know Mindy at all, she’s not going to let this one lie. I take another huge bite of food (emotional eater over here, okay?) as I contemplate whether to tell her the truth. And I don’t know if it’s the wine talking, or the fact that he’s been on my brain relentlessly today, but I can’t hold it in any longer.

“ThassCartrshhbutt,” I mumble through a mouthful of food.

“Pardon me?”

“On the TV.” I swallow and indicate the rear end that is currently infiltrating my living room. “That’s Carter’s butt.”

Mindy’s jaw practically hits the floor as she swivels her head back to take in the sight on the screen. She points. “Woah woah woah woah woah…. Carter, like, Carter Callahan?”

I nod.

“You mean to tell me that the butt I was just admiring like a total perv belongs to your famous best friend with all the dumb jokes?”