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Tuesday, 9 February 2016
Boy Next Door #2
would make such a cute couple.”
I rolled my
eyes. I heard this sort of crap at least five times a day.
sent to me of Ben and I together with little captions, “Couple in the making” and all sorts of other shit.
mates. End of. I didn’t see him as boyfriend material (well, I totally did but
it was never gonna happen) and he’d fancied the pants off one of our other
(female) friends for months so it was totally futile ever thinking anything
would ever happen. He was all set to ask her to the final prom but somehow or
other, even though I’d primed her (see what a good friend I was?) and assured
her he was definitely going to ask her, she ended up getting all antsy at how
long he was taking to ask her and she agreed to go with Lewis Jones instead.
Lewis Jones? How insulting –
I think I was more offended than Ben… And, well good luck there, girl… no one
could love Lewis Jones any more than he loved himself.
Ben and I
had been friends for years – just friends
and for the main part, we were perfectly happy the way things were, thank you
very much… Well, I assumed that Ben was anyway.
“No – we
wouldn’t.” I said with about as much patience as I could muster. I hated this
time of year when there were more wet breaks than dry and everyone congregated
in the common room. This latest onslaught had been going on for a fair few
hours now, on and off, and I was really beginning to get pissed off. I knew
beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ben and I made the perfect couple – because
we’d been the perfect couple for as
long as I could remember – we just weren’t romantically involved – well, apart
from a couple of random ‘moments’ anyway… The first being the day we got
married when we were six and I, being the bride, made damned sure I got my
kiss… I’ll get around to the second time a little later because at that moment
Ben appeared, “’S’up guys?” he grinned around at us all, his eyes resting on me
I felt happier
almost immediately, “These guys are all crazy.” I said, “They’ve been trying to
fix us up – can you believe that?” Please
say you can… please say that Paris’s birthday party wasn’t just a drunken