I saw Pete Thompson thirty-four days ago and can't shake the image from my mind. He didn't look much different to the days when I learned to hate him ?± except the beer gut. His blond hair had lost the shine that made him popular years ago, and fell in no particular style over his football shoulders.
His fashion sense hadn't changed and I was surprised he didn't boast the black moccasins he once adored. Although the stretch acid-wash jeans ?± stuck. He'd worn them with a smirk after making me change into what he deemed suitable. Something that hid the curves he didn't like and promoted those he did
I don't think he saw me.