This wasn't the first time around. They'd been together twice before the long one. The current one.

Both times, Kip had unceremoniously ended the relationship. The first time, he'd been honest, and they didn't speak to each other for months. The second time, Katrina called him first. He didn't believe her when she said she was sorry, but he was so happy to hear her voice again, so happy to imagine her, in her room, on the phone again, that he let go what suspicions he had.

Test trial number two lasted a short week; then he lied, and broke it off more abruptly than even he thought he could.

His heart was entirely intact, which surprised him.

The third time was a mistake. A dreadful, strange, exotic mistake.

Kip blamed Mexican food. Katrina blamed Prozac.