Scandalized

by Ivy Owens

“You’re a hot guy. You should be dating.” “You’re a beautiful woman. You shouldn’t be lied to.”

“I liked that I could just be a man with you,” he says. “That I didn’t have to live up to some expectation and that you weren’t nervous with me. I liked that you were real. I never get real, ever.”

This is a moment I will remember for the entire rest of my life. No matter what happens after this, I will file tonight under Happiness.

“You’re so beautiful it makes me feel this sweet sort of anguish. I’m desperate for you, Gigi.”

An unfamiliar brand of adrenaline swarms my blood, a jealous one. I want to crash through the crowd like a possessive Kool-Aid man and drape his long arm around my shoulders. Isn’t he gorgeous? He likes me. We have sex.

“You’re going to make me love you, aren’t you?” He doesn’t even falter, in step or breath. He says only, “I’m sure going to try.”