By now immune to Gabe’s (and everyone else’s) disdain for my carefully considered, down-to-the-detail life plan, I answered matter-of-factly. “It’s actually a rather elegant solution. As you’ve just pointed out, I’m not a lesbian. As a result, I’m relatively immune to their charms. So no strings attached. Ingenious, huh?”

“I guess. Define ‘relatively.’”I ignored this too. “Are there gonna be any guys there, trying to coax a few back to our team?” He sounded positively titillated over such an opportunity.

“Nope. And I consider that a definite draw.” My patience was drying up.

“Are men even allowed?”

“Only for the occasional ritual sacrifice. Now I really—”

Gabe’s laugh blasted back over the phone line, and I imagined him throwing back his head to punctuate the jocularity. For someone so obviously opposed to my attending these Friday night get-togethers, he seemed vicariously enthralled.

“Gabe, I gotta go.”

“Okay, but I hear these guys are good. If, as you claim, you are still playing for our team, maybe they could get you off the bench.”

The corners of my mouth began to curl despite my best efforts. “I’ll suit up next season,” I parried, nudging a spatula through the bowl of ganache sitting beside me on the counter, looking dangerously delicious.

“Are you telling me that men are on your agenda for next year?”

“I thought I was being lured out for a night of Austin culture and camaraderie?” As opposed to a night of Austen culture and camaraderie with my traitorous journal.

“Just sayin’ ...”

“Anything’s possible,” I allowed, suddenly distinctly uncomfortable with that admission, given what I’d been dealing with for the past quarter hour. “Bye, Gabe. Have fun tonight.” I hung up before hearing his reply, just as the timer went off.