Living/Dead
“s**t, Phil, I’m over here dying, and you’re rubbing it in you’ve got a girlfriend to lie to about stuff,” Gustav said, frowning.
“I’m not rubbing in anything, and you’re not dying. You twisted my arm to come with you, the least you can do is cover for me with Lana. Tell her we caught the Tarantino revival at the AMC if she asks. She finds out I went to Everlasting Love speed dating at Mercer’s—even for your benefit—I’ll be sleeping on the couch for a month if she doesn’t throw me out.”
“She’ll forgive you, though, right? Because she still loves you, doesn’t she?”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point then? That at least you’ve got someone to lose?” Gustav’s voice rose an octave in pseudo-near-hysteria, a trait that amused me—and apparently only me, although it had mad
