Page 30 of Last Love

“She doesn’t wanna talk to me.” The toothpick is jammed back inside my mouth against the opposite cheek as I defeatedly slouch down in my seat. “Fuck, she couldn’t even stand the sight of me.”

“Hate to break it to you, pal, but you’re wrong.”

I keep my stare pinned on my roommate’s girl.

“Don’t get the shit twisted. I’m not an expert on relationships. Or love. Or anything really outside of art – traditional and non-traditional –, understanding how fucking hard it is to be the Commissioner’s daughter – thank God I live in a different state now –, and knowing what it looks like when a girl is terrified of how deeply she feels about someone despite what the person’s done.” She collapses her back against the couch in what appears to be her own mental anguish. “Yeah, I’m very much so an expert on that look.” Her eyes bore deep into mine. “You need to talk to her, Collins. For both your sakes.”

There’s no way that Jovi’s right.

Like it’s just not fucking possible.

Fuck, none of this shit should be possible.

None of it should be real.

We should’ve never fucking crossed paths.

She should be halfway across the country being pampered in some billionaire’s beach bungalow who’s fucking begging her to marry him not living in an impressive but bland townhome starting her life over.

But…

But how crazy is it that she’s starting her life over at the exact same time I’m starting mine over?

How fucking insane is it that in spite of our very different circumstances – she definitely has all her shit together – we still managed to end up on the same path.

Collide.

What if this is our real second shot at shit?

What if after all this time I can finally stop just thinking about my favorite high and actually fucking have her again?

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