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Jesus Christ, estoy perdiendo la cabeza. I’m losing my damn mind.
“Are you planning on not finishing the salad?” “No, but I figured the offer would cheer you up.”
“Hey Lucy?” “Hmm?” “Know what I’m going to do?” “What?” “I’m going to date the shit out of you.”
“There’s an urban legend among twins that if you find the person who can tell you apart, that’s like meeting your soul mate.” “Uhhh, let’s not go that far.” “I’m serious!” Her excitement is palpable. “You might be her unicorn.”
“Anyone with half a fucking brain can tell you’re not her, and I’ve been going out of my fucking mind.” His hands gesture around his head like his brain is exploding as he continues his rant. “Trying to figure out what to fucking do about this—pardon my French—because Jesus, I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s driving me crazy that you won’t even say your name. Can’t you understand that?”
“Let’s start with this: do you even give the slightest shit about me?”
“I didn’t want you kissing me as Lucy. I wanted you kissing me as me.”
“Lucy said I’m your unicorn.” He laughs, tossing his jacket on a chair. This gives me pause. “She did?” “Yup. I’m a motherfucking unicorn.”
Just the tip, just the motherfucking tip—not even an inch—is ecstasy.
