Page 52 of Lessons in Love
“Yes.” She comes closer and leans her hip against the counter next to me. “He touched me on the leg in the car and tried to kiss me.”
“That’s what you wanted.”
“I don’t want it in the back of a car where he gets off then gets out and leaves me riding home alone.”
“What do you expect from him? What do you want?”
“I want love, Hardy.”
“You’re looking in the wrong place then, sweetheart. I know that asshole. I used to be that asshole. So when I say we are going to end badly—you and I, you and this Lowry dude are going to be disastrous.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m not going to lie to you anymore. I can’t protect you from self-destructing, but I will tell you what I’m going to do for you.”
“What is that?”
“I’m going to stay. I’m going to give you the friendship and support you want from me.”
“Why?”
“Because when he fucks you on New Year’s and then he’s flirting with the receptionist the next day, you’re going to needa friend.” I take her hand and hold it between us. “I’ll be that friend for you.”
Tears fill her eyes and she falls into my arms. I wrap them around her and kiss the top of her head. The pain I feel now won’t compare to the pain I know she’s going to experience with that asshole. Like how I knew she needed to feel bad for hurting me, she needs to go through with her plan so she will eventually see she had me all along.
Chapter Seventeen
Virginia and I have come to an understanding. Or should I say, I’ve come to my senses. No more visits to the hipster. I was right all along. Love blinds you to reality. I’ve taken off my rose-colored glasses. I might have actually stomped them into smithereens before I climbed into bed with her.
Before you say, “But Hardy, she shot you down,” let me explain. When I decided to stay and support our friendship, I meant it. Maybe it’s the ridiculous notion of it’s better to have whatever I can versus nothing at all if I’d walked out that door. Or maybe despite the bullshit I spew, an inkling, or better yet, smaller than an inkling whatever that is, of hope still exists. A lot like that seed that was planted when I met her it’s there still, rolling around in the dirt that is self-respect. I can feel it like the princess felt the pea, but since it’s me, it’s more like the king and his . . . whatever. You get the drift.
So here I am, lying next to her, watching a romantic comedy that I don’t think is funny at all. That might be because Virginia’s and my relationship resembles the mess I’m watching a little too closely. “Ultimately, she’s still cheating,” I say, pointing at the screen like Meg Ryan will stop her nonsense and break up withher boyfriend before pursuing Tom Hanks. “Oh, her last name is Ryan, like you.”
“We’re not related.”
“Too bad.”
“I know. I could use a vacation to LA about now.” She lifts her head, and asks, “Are you hungry?”
“I can eat.”
Using my chest as leverage, she lifts up and shoots an eyebrow up in amusement. “You did earlier—twice. Once at Kate & Theo and then me.”
“Did you set me up for that lame joke?”
“No.” She laughs. “I’m actually hungry. The food was good but the portions were tiny. Want to go out and get something to eat?”
“You do realize it’s almost midnight, right?”
“Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure, Hardy?”
“Back in Brooklyn where I know I can get a great sandwich in the middle of the night at the local deli.”
“Well I can beat it.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I’ll bet you the food.”
