Standard Disclaimer.
Ever since Newport, Ryan has had a liking for only a specific kind of girl. A sonar that could pick up only certain kinds of people.
Marissa was always beautiful to him. The untouchable girl next door. She had nice full lips and a wide mouth. Great big eyes and delicate arches. Sharp angles and subtle curves. Thin arms and smooth skin. And, hey, she was kinda nice.
She was beautiful. Flawless.
Until he found out she wasn't. Was anything but. Was more like his mother than he would ever admit, even to himself (Damn Freud).
So he moved on.
Now, the only thing he sees is Lindsey. There's something about the way she sees herself that makes his chest flood and his skin tingle, delusions of something both more and less than what she really is. He likes the way she's confident, but not. Likes the way she rambles. Moves her hands in the craziest patterns or plays with her fingernails when she gets embarrassed. Or how she sticks her tongue out the corner of her mouth and eyebrows scrunch up when she's confused.
He likes the way she can play with an X-box without worrying about possibly ruining her nail-polish or going shopping and not have it necessarily include getting designer…something. He likes her little lists and quirky sorting patterns. Likes the way she always tries to improve herself and how she grumbles when something throws off The Schedule. Likes the way she's self-centered just slightly, but still has a good heart.
She's beautiful in another way he knows about, one that doesn't require Manolos, Tiffany's, and an affinity for bobbing for olives instead of apples.
Because—Because even if he can't have Seth, he can still pretend. He pretended that when he was kissing soft, full lips that he was running his finger through black curls instead of highlighted brown. Pretended that the thin scrawny arms that circled his body belonged to shoulders that were slightly broader. That the hips he held were sharper than they really were.
Now he pretends that the voice with the witty phrases and actual opinions is slightly deeper. Pretends that Player 1 is much better at this game than what the screen is currently saying. That the hands he tries to follow are wider and with longer fingers instead of small and delicate ones he sees now.
More importantly, he pretends he doesn't see the longing glances or the knitted eyebrows etched in confusion; things that belonged to a girl with a boat named after way before they were his.
Because, he thinks, if he didn't...all of this would just fall apart and he doesn't know if he could handle that without falling apart, too.
