She closes her eyes, and I feel my insides curdle. I have no idea what I’m feeling, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels messed up. She walks over to the couch and takes a seat, her hand barely keeping a hold of her beer. She looks up at me, and my face feels hot.
“Do you have Tivo?” She asks. “I don’t want to miss America’s Next Top Model.”
I’m alone on my couch. It would have never worked out anyway. We were two different people. For one, I preferred Project Runway.