He laughs, stars in his eyes, driving my car home. His gift was to get me drunk on his company's tab then drive me home so I wouldn't have to worry about it. Pause, then, "Me, too." He smiles and squeezes my hand.
"A little bit?" I can't even wait for the poetic fucking beat, because even though I know it's protocol, I am drunk and impatient.
"I didn't say that," he laughs again. "Just, me, too." His answer is, his answer has always been, that he will stick around as long as I will have him.
Rotten little girl in me doesn't believe it, though, and that's why we are keeping a record, now.
Any day, now, I'll learn my lesson.