“Why were you angry at the party?”
Oh. Now I remember. With hands on my hips, I say with meaning, “You told that idiot I was your ‘friend,’” I say with finger quote things.
“You are my friend.”
“No,” I snarl. “I’m your boyfriend. Big difference.”
“Ah. I see.” She smiles at me. “You were jealous again.”
“The fuck? Of course I was jealous again. I’m your man. You’re my woman. You don’t call me your ‘friend’ in social situations. Especially when some motherfucking guy is hitting on you.”
“He wasn’t hitting on me. He’s—”
“He. Was. Hitting. On you, Becklyn. Jesus.” I run my hand through my hair. I swear to you, she’s going to be the death of me. “I know you’re a little naïve sometimes, but you had every single fucking guy in that place staring at you. I thought I was going to have to throw down with half the place.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Sweetheart.” I sigh. She cannot be serious. “You have no idea how fucking hot you are, do you?”
“Hot?”
“Yeah, babe. You’re a stone-cold fox. You’re hot as sin. You’re fucking Marilyn.”
“Marilyn? Who’s she?”
“Monroe, babe. Marilyn Monroe, only you’re better.”
“She was blonde.”
“So. Nobody cares what color her hair was, honey.”
“Well. Sure. I guess.”
We’re both quiet for several moments. I’ve been doing my best to calm down using breathing exercises I use while boxing. It’s helping. “Becklyn, my love…”
“My love?” She smiles.
“My love. Yes. You’re my love. With that being said, whenever we’re out together, it’d be great if you acted like you werewithme. I mean, if I have to beat up a room full of men, so be it, but it’d be best if you pretended to be with me.”
Becklyn’s voice has grown soft. “I am with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you.”
“You have?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “You know I have.”
“No. I didn’t know that.” Not for sure.
“I just figured you didn’t want a clingy girlfriend.”
“Ordinarily, no. But we’re not talking about any ordinary girlfriend. I want everyone to know you’re mine. I want to hold your hand and have my arm around you so guys like your neighbor know you’re taken.”
“I see.”
“Don’t you want the same? Don’t you want other women to know I’m with someone? That I’m with you?”
“Yes.” It looks like a lightbulb went off. “Of course. I can’t deal with the Tiffs of the world.”
Me neither. “Then we understand one another?”
