She wasn’t as pretty as I’d expected.
I’d been afraid he’d bring her along. I’d been so crazy about him for so long, it was almost like I was nervous about it out of habit. But it wasn’t so bad. And she wasn’t that pretty.
Two glasses of wine helped. It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t that bad.
And sitting there, looking across the table at the two of them, I realized that what I was feeling wasn’t love or need or even lust, but jealousy.
And, for the five millionth time, I hope that I’ve never ever been in love at all. That when I see it I’ll know because it will be so different from anything else, and I’ll think, that, that is what I’ve been looking for.