“Yes.” I nod my head and she laughs.
“And what makes someone underage?”
“Laws.”
“Okay, why are those laws establishing that at 18, you’re an adult? Like why did they decide on 18?”
“Uh,” I hesitate, and she is smirking at me, which means she already knows the answer, maybe preparing for this exact moment.
“There’s no science behind it. It was just an age that people thought sounded good based on their own experiences.” I pause and look at her. “In fact, mentally you and I are probably more alike than some women you’ve already fucked.” And then she opens the door, slams it, and storms up to the front of the house.
What the fuck just happened?
Getting out of the Jeep, I follow her into the house and look around, but don’t find her in the kitchen. I can hear her slamming things around in the house though.
Following the sound of the rage. Slowly pushing the doors open, I see her shoulders tight as she snatches things up and moves them into her bag. “Are you going to elaborate on all that?” She laughs, not even bothering to look back at me.
“No,” she spins around and stomps back up to me. “You know what. I will. What I meant is that the latest studies show that some parts of your brain aren’t done developing until you’re in your 30s.”
“What?” I look at her, confused.
“I’m not a neuroscientist. I just know what I read. So again, how different are we?” she asks as she stands in front of me, crossing her arms and holding her ground.
I try to not look at her tits as they rest on her arms, but it really isn’t too hard because she’s fucking adorable when she’s standing up for herself.
“Why are you smiling?” She’s still glaring up at me.
“I’m not…” I tell her, trying to not laugh.
“You are.” She continues to glare up at me. “You think it’s funny.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Then why are you laughing?”
“You’re cute when you’re angry.” She rolls her eyes before she turns round. “Ella,” I reach up, grasping her arm and spinning her around. “I’m not trying to make you feel insignificant. In fact, it’s the opposite. You’re too good for someone who would do something like that.”
“Do something like what?”
“Honestly, then, all of it. But specifically, someone who’s 7 years older than you, sleeping with you when you’re 16 and would just leave you.”
“You wouldn’t do that.” She whispers up to me.
I don’t let myself think about that…
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is it?”
“Fuck, I don’t know exactly. I just know that you deserve more.”
“More than what?”
“Then anyone who would get you drunk at a party and take you home.” She smirks now. “More than someone who would sleep with someone underage. There are some rules that you just don’t break… and that’s one of them.”
“Ok.” She pauses. “But you said. That even if…” she trails, looking up at me.
“I try to live my life not getting murdered.” She smiles.
