Jeremy and I broke up months ago, but I’m still best friends with his dad. Not that this was the plan, of course. It all started with Jeremy himself, the golden boy who came highly recommended by a mutual friend. You two will be perfect together, they insisted. And for a while, we were. He checked all the boxes that mattered to a 22-year-old girl: shaggy blonde hair, eyes the color of a tropical lagoon, and abs sculpted with the precision of a Renaissance statue. Can you blame me for falling? Beyond the aesthetics, we also shared a handful of meaningful interests: we were both 22, both enjoyed watching movies, and both liked late-night food runs. Okay, maybe our compatibility was surface level at best, but we were young and he filled the lonesome void I was sinking into. So, minor details like emotional depth and long-term potential seemed entirely negotiable.