Under Locke

by Mariana Zapata

Dex let go of my sweater, taking a step toward the drunken fart. “You know damn well you don’t come into my shop demandin' shit, callin' my girl a bitch.” In the words of a rap song my neighbor used to play on his boombox when I was a kid: Hold up, wait a minute.

“I should've kicked his fuckin' ass for talkin' to you like that,” he murmured when I was taking my first sip of Coke.

I groaned, leaning back so that I was face-up on the chair, rolling my head to the side where the door was to find Dex standing just outside of it, looking in. “I’ll do it, Slim,” he said, taking a step forward.

“Can you fix it if I mess up?” I asked him in a whisper. He gave me the most indulgent smile in the world. “Course I can, babe.”

"Don't even think about it, Ritz," Dex grumbled from his spot. He wasn't paying attention to the screen anymore. He had his gaze locked on me, his eyes intense. "You walk out, and I'll go get you."

"Babe, I've handpicked everythin' and everyone in here. I know what I want, and I get what I want," he breathed. "And I keep what's mine."

Dex scrubbed his fingers over his lips again, his glare violent. “Look at you. I never stood a fuckin’ chance.”

“Baby, there’s nothing wrong with my judgment. I know exactly what I’m doin’, and I know damn well that if I ever see you smile at somebody like you did at Trey today, I’ll kill the poor bastard.” “Dex!” “I’m not jokin’. I don’t wanna see that shit ever again, so unless you want me goin’ to jail for murderin’ somebody, quit it,” he stated, not blinking, not breathing, totally focused.

“Dex, it’s nothing.” “Baby, it’s not fuckin’ nothin’. You wouldn’t be missin’ half your bicep if it was nothin’. You wouldn’t have been hidin’ this if it wasn’t a big deal. This shit is not nothin’ to me.”

A chuckle rose up from him, loose and happy, as he rubbed the side of his stubbled face against mine. "You've gotta be the best thing I never knew I wanted."