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"Of eighties romances?"
I nod.
"Say Anything."
"You wanted to be the sensitive artist holding a boom box outside some woman's window?"
Walker laughs. "No. And you're misrepresenting the film."
"Am I?"
He nods. "She hates the boom box thing. It doesn't help win her back."
That's true, actually. "It's hard to believe you ever enjoyed a romance."
"'Cause I'm a guy?"
"No. Because you were very… anti-commitment."
He chuckles. "That's a nice euphemism for slut."
"I try."
"I was different when I was a kid. Love seemed like a good thing. Something that would make you warm, not stab you in the back."
"And now?"
"Fuck. I don't know." His eyes meet mine. "Probably shouldn't tell my girlfriend I'm not sure how I feel about love."
"Still no game."
He pulls me closer. "I'm pathetic."
"You really are."
"You're convincing me."
I press my lips together. "I'm convincing you?"
"That trusting someone isn't the stupidest thing in the world."
"And if it is?"
"Then I'm about where I started." He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. "This is really fucking tragic, sweetness, but I'm gonna have to ask you to move."
"Oh." I slide off his lap.
He leans in to brush his lips against mine then he gets up, goes to my bookshelf, pulls out my Star Wars DVD set. "You want to start with Episode Four?"
"Of course." I watch him bend to slide the disc into the DVD player. He really has a fantastic ass. A fantastic everything.
I'm making him believe in trust.
In love.
I…
He's said it a lot now. The past doesn't matter.
