Icebreaker

Can she not just be very talented? And not be sucking someone’s dick?

Looking at her makes me want to be the funniest guy in the room, so I can be the one to make her laugh

“Make me.”

“Your choice.”

I feel like I’m missing a huge part of the puzzle here because—despite his long-ass, still-not-over speech—I have zero idea what prompted this rude interruption to my schedule.

it would be prudent for you to take note of this message.”

Everyone, bar the fifty-ish of us, filter out of the room. Ironically, about five times quicker than they filtered in.

I decide throwing my ice skates at her is something that should stay in my imagination.

“I can’t remember why I’m not allowed to kiss you anymore, but I really, really want to.”

For something designed to make you feel better, positive affirmations fucking suck. They aren’t working. I don’t feel any more positive. I don’t feel any more affirmed. Why do I bother?

But I can’t think about it because we’re friends now, and the only time she screams my name these days is on the ice.