He lifted his head off the steering wheel and opened his car door. Sauntering, he walked up the steps to his apartment and opened the front door.

“Dude, Jim!” he heard Mark yell from the next room. “Sixers up three with 1:32 left in overtime! We might actually pull this game off!”

He sighed and walked into the living room.

“Jim? You look like hell.”
“Yeah…”
“You okay?”
“I, uh, kind of told Pam how I feel about her tonight.”
Mark choked on the potato chip he was eating. “Seriously?!”

Jim nodded and looked at the floor. Mark muted the tv and scooted forward.

“And?! Dude, this is huge.”

Jim looked up and shrugged his shoulders, hands still in his pockets.

“Looks like I’m moving to Connecticut.”
“Oh no, man. I’m so sorry.” Mark glanced at the TV. “Sixers pulled it off, if that makes you feel any better.”

Jim let out a weak, half-hearted chuckle. He lifted a fist. “Go team.”

He slowly made his way upstairs and into his room. He threw his jacket over his chair, and flopped down on his bed, his hands weaved in his hair. What happened tonight?! He started replaying the whole night in his head. His sudden surge of courage as he saw her in that parking lot, sure that she must feel the same way he did. Her eyebrows furrowing as she said, “I can’t”. The single tear--the one he tried so hard to keep in--burning down his cheek. His second wave of courage (or desperation?) as he followed her back inside the building. Her lips--her freaking lips on his. The feel of her body under his hands. And then the gradual realization that it was all for nothing and not only was his heart shattered, possibly beyond repair, he knew he had also just lost his best friend.

He quickly leaned over the side of his bed and vomited into the trash can.