Love sucks. Especially other people’s love. You know how it goes. You have a perfectly good friendship with someone and do all kinds of fun shit and then they go and get themselves all loved up with a dude and suddenly they are all like “sorry, I’m seeing my boyfriend tonight.” And, even if they do bother to come out with you, they drag their boyfriend out with them and spend the night wrapped up so tight in their own little circle of love that they may as well not be there anyway. If you are going to be like that, you may as well stay at home instead of wasting perfectly good space.
Not that was what it was like with my friend, Hannah. Not yet anyway. She was just in that stage one of love, the stage where they want to discuss stuff. Stuff about their love guy. Like you say “oh, the sky looks blue today” and they do that sighing and cow eyes and say shit like “Jack has blue eyes…” and he doesn’t even have blue eyes, they just want to say his name. Then the angst and the having to analyse everything he says and does.
That’s annoying. You have to admit it.
I think Hannah would have been better off if she’d just shagged Jack upfront. Gotten it out of her system and moved on. That smoldering sexual tension will make a girl think she feels all kind of things that are just plastic fantasies she’s built up in her head. Even though I was friends with the band now and got to hang out with them and cool stuff like that, I kinda missed the imaginary Jack Colt I’d created. He was like my best friend but now he was gone and I’d never get him back. You can’t go around having sexual fantasies about your friend’s kinda sorta boyfriend. So I’d made a deal with her. She could have Jack Colt if she bought me the super awesome boots I wanted in Tokyo. She said she didn’t want him but any fool with a two brain cells could tell she did. And I really wanted those boots. A lot.
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