Because life is repetitive, her love is unrequited all over again.
...
Felicity can't make her feet move.
It's been three months and she can't wait for a boy she hardly knows.
Life isn't a romantic comedy and if he ever wakes up, it won't be for her. Iris waves her goodbye.
...
John serves her coffee, and she babbles over pastries. His voice wipes code and numbers from her eyes. The heat from her coffee coats echoes of her keyboard and whispers warmth into her skin. John tells her stories. "Don't you have a story to tell?"
Felicity drinks and fills her chest.
"Maybe..."
...
Laurel takes her out dancing and drowns her in alcohol. Eyes glazed, her view weaves the room into a patchwork of strobe lights and flailing limbs. He is handsome but too close, chokes her with cologne. Uncomfortable, touching her, Laurel tries to pry him off her but fails. Arms to weak, legs like jelly, he can pull her along like air.
Gears shift and common sense kicks in. Six inches of black heels as a boost, she swings up between his legs and leaves him a slump on the floor.
The boy sitting next to her is laughing and calling out to the bouncers. He strikes up conversation and asks her out. Date scheduled for tomorrow, he kisses her goodnight.
Felicity doesn't catch Laurel smiling or dialing a certain billionare to taunt and tattle to.
She swoons over twinkling baby blues and ignores the sulking giant on the other side of glass.