She laughs, and I let my mouth smile even though my eyes tear.

“Yes, he’s pretty good looking,” I swallow, turning from her to roll to my side. When she flinches I hold my hand up. “Just trying a different position, to see if that helps,” I say, wanting to hide my face from her, knowing I won’t be able to plaster the smile on the entire time.

“He’s a hockey player. For Tech? He said he isn’t very good, but he gets to play.” She sounds so excited when she talks about him. She sounds exactly like I did when I lay in bed next to my mom after skating with Andrew the first time and told her about this cute boy who plays hockey who isn’t anything like the neighbor said he was. She sounds so happy.

“That’s cool,” I manage to eek out.

“I know, isn’t it? I’m going to watch him play Friday. They’re home. Oh my god, he was just so…so real, you know? Like a normal, real guy,” she pauses, pulling her feet up on the bed now and kicking her shoes off. I feel her weight slide down next to me and her arm come up to sweep under her neck on the pillow.

“Yeah…” I start, my eyes fluttering to a close again. “Normal. That’s…that’s great, Linds.”

So terribly, awfully, nightmarishly great.

“You know, it’s true what they say,” she says through a yawn. I let out a short breath and laugh in response—no clue where she could be taking this conversation. I can’t believe this night is happening to me. “You know. About not looking?”

“Sorry, I’m lost,” I respond, not able to sound enthused any more. My eyes are staring at the numbers on my clock, watching the dot count seconds, waiting for this to be over.

“The good ones always show up when you stop looking for them,” she says, my mind finishing before her words enough to let a single tear slide from my eye to my pillow.

“Yeah,” I say, biting my lip and drawing as much air as I can get through my nose. “It’s true. They always come…right…when you…stop looking.”

“Thanks for losing your license,” she says, reaching her hand over to grasp my arm once and give it a squeeze. I want her to leave. I want to be alone. I want to cry.

But I can’t do any of that. I’m hell bent on pretending that the past isn’t real, just like Andrew. Maybe that’s how it hurts him less. And if it works for him, maybe it will work for me, too.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper, playing the part of a liar. That’s what I am, after all—a liar.

Lindsey yawns again, and soon her breathing starts to fall into a regular pattern. She’s on her way to dreams, and I’m sure they’ll be wonderful. She deserves them, but I’m jealous all the same.

It’s nine at night, and we’re both usually exhausted. It comes with our schedule, with the amount of extra everything we both put in just to be med students. Lindsey is an amazing friend—an amazing girl.

And she found him.

Maybe…maybe I give him this.

Chapter 8

Andrew

“Kind of an early night for you…for a date night…no?” Trent says to me the second I step through the door. His crap is piled on the counter again. I just laugh this time and ignore it. I’m not in the mood to be pissed off at my friend for no reason. I’m too pissed at myself.

“Yeah, I guess,” I shrug, passing through the kitchen and grabbing each of us a beer, then handing him one.

I sit on the opposite end of the couch and kick my feet up on the coffee table. He’s watching a bunch of guys debate on ESPN over the latest drug scandal in baseball. Actually, right now he’s watching me. I can see his face pointed in my direction, his bottle tipping my way so his eyes stay on me. He’s waiting for me to open up. Trent…he’s a feelings kind of guy. We are one of those sets of opposite-types of friends—his feelings are complimented by my complete lack there of.

“License girl not what you expect?”

I keep my breathing normal, stifling my desire to huff and sigh. I shake my head as if I didn’t hear him. “Huh, sorry. Was lost in the show,” I say. There’s a commercial on right now, and he looks at me in a way that says bullshit.

“License girl?” he asks again, shit-eating grin and all. He senses there’s something off with me about this.

I shrug and turn my attention forward again, taking a short drink from my beer. “It was her roommate I went out with. She’s the one that answered the door the other day. She’s cute. Just…I don’t know,” I let the rest of my words linger, never finishing.