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“Fuck me, I love a good sandwich,” Grant says
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“Too busy sowing wild oats,” she says sagely, sipping another glass of wine. “You leave my oats out of this,” he says, and she laughs.
“Oh my god,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “You’re going to hell.” “And you’re riding shotgun with me,” Grant says as he throws the car in reverse.
“It might not even be a date. His email just said, ‘Come over.’” Nicole snorts. “Yeah, he means on his dick.” “I would like to do that,” Helen says with an air of tragic resignation,
“Sometimes I feel like I miss you when you’re right in front of me,” she says as he nudges her cheek with his nose. “Isn’t that weird?”
It’s messy, the way they want each other, and she doesn’t seem to care.
“Could you have loved me back, do you think? Or was it . . . always doomed?” Helen swallows. I do, I do, I do, her heart seems to say with every beat.
THEN FUCKING SAY THAT
“It’s kind of nice to say it out loud. Even under the circumstances.” Helen wipes moisture from her cheeks and realizes she’s crying. In an instant, he’s next to her, pulling her into his arms, stroking her hair, and whispering soothingly to her, “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back, it’s okay, I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Who are we sending in next? The sad, hot man, or the sad, worried parents?”
“You’ve convinced me,” she coughs, in a way that makes Nicole actually look worried for a second. “Send in the broody, hot one.”
“You could keep me your dirty little secret, come to me tasting like other men, I’d still take you back every fucking time,” he says, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw. “I’d rather have a fraction of you than all of someone else.”
“I’d like you to leave now,” she says quietly. “What’s wrong, getting too honest?” Grant murmurs softly. “Please,” she says. “You’re a coward, Helen.”
“Helen. This is a sickness.”
and you’re a bitch
