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We are fated, like my grandmother, my mother, my sisters, and me, to be the person before. The rebound, the partner at the beginning of rom-coms who is rarely named because they are always what the main character doesn’t need. They are the utterly forgettable Before.
No. If my best friend’s going to jump, I’m at least going to be his spotter.
I’d always be his oldest friend, but she soon—and forever—will become his best. That’s the part that is hard to stomach.
“Sometimes when you love someone, you both have to do shit you don’t want to.”
“I wasn’t joking yesterday when I asked you to kiss me.” My bottom lip wobbled. “So you can find your t-true love, too?” “Fuck that,” he growled and took my face in his hands and kissed me. Crushed our mouths together, our breaths intertwining in the cold.
Because the way he kisses feels like the way I fall in love, sharp and quick and deep.
