Love Like That. Amanda Hill
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“Like, if you were dating her?”
“Fuck no,” he replied. “What kind of sick dude would ever want to date a girl like that?”
My point exactly.
Jeremy returned with two bottles of Heineken and handed me one. I guessed the beer stash was dwindling because Jeremy knows I hate Heineken and will only drink it as a last resort. He turned on the TV to see if there were any good movies on.
I watched the way his shoulders hunched forward as he leaned onto his knees to change channels. His face was earnest as he observed the activity on the screen. I wonder if Pristina thinks she’s a lucky girl. I hope she does. I know I’m a lucky girl because when you strip away all of the foolishness and weirdness and constant bickering between us, it’s actually nice to have a friend like Jeremy. It’s nice to have a friend who would rather come keep you company than go home and be alone…even if to keep you company means that you’re both being adulterous.
We slept quietly in my bed that night, on sheets printed with fish, holding each other in a comforting embrace. Occasionally he would wake up and kiss my neck and stroke my hair. Sometimes that’s all you need—to have somebody there—to get you up the next morning and make you think about how sweet it feels to have warm blood in your veins and hot breath in your lungs and a whole life that’s all yours to live and live and live.
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