Rewind to last week when he's stumbled in the door, drunk and sneaking kisses. He sits on our floor and tells us a story. Five girls, he's saying, that's how many his friends wanted him to hit on. Five girls, each more uninteresting than the last, and this is the part where he catches my eye and doesn't let go.
"I wonder why that is," he says, slowly, carefully, while inhaling. "I wonder why I found all those girls so uninteresting."
Me. The answer is me.