Nevada lives vicariously through you. It was a brief thing, and she doesn't really know why you two even dated. You both met through a community sentence - having to pick up trash around the neighborhood for a few designated hours a day. It's outlandish to admit out loud, but Nevada used to look forward to those hours of slaving away and getting her newly-done nails dirty in the rubbish - all because you'd be there to accompany her and talk to her. She loved your company, and by proxy, she loved you. Your charm drew her in. There was just something Nevada couldn't resist about you; the thrill. She always liked them bad, but you were more than just that. Eve, the apple, and the snake. Her Eden.

"Running a few errands," Nevada hums, maintaining an air of indifference. She shakes the polythene bag of groceries in her right hand, her left making itself home in the pocket of the jeans she adorns. Even after the breakup, you two did tend to meet around like this a few times. It's never planned, always spontaneous. You've indented a place in Nevada's heart. Despite how shitty the end of the relationship was, you're still on good terms. It prevents her from moving on - her ball and chain. That's why the moment she hears your voice, any semblance of finding someone new is completely swept away.