That Colin’s behavior was so meticulously in-character was as frustrating and embarrassing as my own atypical, unplanned antics. I didn’t consider myself a drama queen, anyway. I hadn’t cried over a guy since I was like seventeen, and I’d never, that I could remember, let myself be goaded into a fruit-flinging rage. So much for Personality. Of course he’d choose Joaquin—he was younger than me and way better looking, seemed always to have coffee or beer at the ready as the occasion required, and saved the histrionics for when he pressed his lips to yours and made you want to run naked into the night whooping and hollering Hooray! Hell, I was beginning to wish I had my own psychotic imaginary reality show so I could choose Joaquin, toss every longing for Colin from my heart, mind, and d**k-b
