Pool house. Ryan is loafing on the futon, futzing with his laptop, when someone raps on the door. "Wow. Knocking," he smirks before calling out, "It's open!" He's shocked to see Marissa edging into the room. "Bad news," she admits. "I know you had Saturday night all planned." Ryan's eyes dart furtively around his head, and he covers by futzing some more with the computer. "Something's come up," Marissa continues. "That sucks," Ryan breathes. Hee. Marissa announces that, instead, they'll be "spending a romantic evening aboard a yacht for this charity event hosted by...my mom." "Your mom hates me," Ryan reminds her. Marissa argues that it's just because Lady Heather hasn't gotten to know Ryan yet, and insists that her mother's "changed" since Ryan's last run-in with her. Then, poor, delusional Marissa starts babbling about how wonderful her life will be once her parents reconcile and things go back to the way they once were. Ryan's expression is all, "Keep telling yourself that, princess," but he remains silent, which Marissa misinterprets as angst over spending an evening with Lady Heather. "Look," she tells him, "first-date stuff -- candy, flowers -- that's easy." Ryan, making a mental list, repeats, "Candy. Flowers. Right." Heh. "But it's times like these," Marissa continues, "when a girl needs her boyfriend the most." "'B-b-boyfriend'?" Ryan stammers, all raised eyebrows and gaping mouth. "Aren't we...." Marissa starts, puzzled. "I guess," he sort-of confirms. "It's just that I've never been a boyfriend before." "But you've had girlfriends?" Marissa ponders, still not getting it. "Not girlfriends. Just girls...you know," he admits. Marissa silently realizes that Ryan means he freaked a bunch of Chino sluts, but that nothing went any further than that. "Your mom, Saturday night," he exhales, hastily changing the subject before the conversation leads to further embarrassment. "Sounds great." "Good," Marissa smiles, pulling Ryan in to nuzzle his cheek. Ryan's face is uncomfortably smashed against hers, and he's got the deer-in-the-headlights thing going on in his eyes. Heh. Commercials.
We return to find Seth in the kitchen with a cup of coffee the following morning. "I admit it," he says. "I occasionally talk about Summer -- I may even talk about her too much, but that's not really the point, is it?" The shot cuts to Rosie, who glares wearily at Seth for a beat before exiting with a stack of towels. Heh. Ryan lopes in to pour himself some orange juice, and Seth pounces. "So get this," he begins, nodding his head around like he can't believe what he's about to say. "Anna thinks all I ever do is talk about Summer. I mean, that's crazy, right?" Ryan's all, "Dude, you never fucking shut up about her." Only he conveys that without opening his mouth. Horrified, Seth gasps, "I'm that guy? How could I be that guy? I hate that guy!" Ryan downs a handful of dry cereal as Seth babbles some more about Summer. "You're doing it again," Ryan mumbles. "Right!" Seth agrees, instantly going tight-lipped.