“Because prior history of violence. Not the first time I’dsavedsomeone like that.”
“Saved,” I insist. “Him.”
He closes his eyes as if he can’t take it anymore. “Oh, Jesus.”
“I changed my mind,” I tell him.
His eyes snap open. “About what?”
“You’re not the bandit.”
“What?”
“You’re Robin Hood.”
He opens and closes his plush mouth, as if wanting to say something but not being able to. I guess he thinks I’m too ridiculous for words.
But it’s okay.
I don’t mind.
Because I know I’m not.
I’m very, very non-ridiculous when I say, “Of bullies. Because you’re the bully who saves kids from other bullies. So you’re the bully who bullies other bullies.”
“Yeah, very poetic and a fucking mouthful,” he bites out, displeased. “Can we please, for themotherfuckinglove of God, cut the drama now?”
“Itispoetic,” I say, nodding. “And a mouthful. So is ‘ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend,’ but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Also I can’t cut the drama. I’m a writer.”
His chest moves abruptly, on a sharp breath. “Look —”
“And maybe sometimes bad boys can’t help it either. Saving people.”
His eyes narrow and I smile.
Although he is right.
It’s time to cut it and switch gears.
“Will you be watching me then?” I ask. “With him.”
Immediately, his displeased looks goes away and he answers, “Yeah.”
Like it never even occurred to him to not.
Not for a single second.
And it probably didn’t.
“The whole time, right?”
I sound needy. I know that.
Under any other circumstances or with any other person, I’d be embarrassed.
But not with him.
Not when he jerks out a determined nod even faster than his earlier reply.