22
I thought about it all night and all the next morning.
Spending any more time with Derek was a bad idea. I knew this. That was not in question.
But Kevin was still pouting and hadn’t called me back – so technically, whatever I did wouldn’t be cheating.
For the record, I knew that was a total copout. I didn’t even think it held water as an excuse.
…but it was, technically, correct.
And it gave me a certain amount of psychological cover to play ‘What If.’
At the end of the day, I could always scream like Ross on Friends, “We were on a BREAK!”
But I still knew I was getting back together with Kevin. I was, there was no question in my mind of that.
And anything I did with Derek would be cheating, technicality or not.
But…
…if we never kissed…
…and we never touched…
…and we never had sex…
…was it really cheating?
Of course it was. It was ‘emotional’ cheating.
But since Kevin and I were broken up, ‘emotional’ cheating seemed like it wasn’t really cheating at all.
And if I kept things in control… which I was totally sure I could do… then what was wrong with going to his stupid band thing? Why, it was probably a great idea for me to go – his band probably sucked! His friend was probably a douchebag! They were probably talentless, deluded f*ck-ups who would never amount to anything! If I went and saw all that, the spell would be broken! Derek would just be an insanely hot guy with no future, no talent, and nothing going for him beyond looks!
And charm.
And charisma.
And smarts.
But ultimately that was the deciding factor in my decision: if I went, I was only going so that I could wreck my daydreamy vision of him. I was going to uncover the facts, like all good reporters should. I was going to find out the Truth.
So I decided to go.
It didn’t quite turned out like I’d planned.