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Sobering, she laid her palms on the table and eyed me with uncertainty.
“So…” She began.
“So?” I prompted, tilting my head as I waited for her to get on with whatever she wanted to say.
“What are we?”
“Well,” I crossed my fingers and laid my hands on the table as I leaned forward, like I was letting her in on a secret, “I’m a boy and you’re a girl and we happen to be homo sapiens.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant.”
I did. I just wanted to make her say it.
When I still didn’t respond she huffed in irritation.
“What are we?” She repeated. “What is this thing—” She pointed to herself then me. “—between us?”
I shrugged, lifting the glass of orange juice to my lips. “I guess you’re my girlfriend.”
“You guess?” She laughed hysterically. “Dean Wentworth, this explains why you’ve never been in a long-term relationship.”
“And you have?” I raised a brow and waited, already knowing the answer.
“Well, no.” She frowned. “But that’s because most guys can’t handle me.” She raised her eyes to mine and there was hope and longing shimmering in the blue depths. “I think you can, though.”
“I’ve handled you for nineteen years, a relationship wouldn’t change that.” I chuckled. Sobering, I added, “It feels weird to call you my girlfriend.”
She paled and sat back. The look of disappointment on her face nearly shattered me.
“Oh.”
“Willow, that’s not what I meant,” I said quickly, wishing I could backpedal and take back what I said. “It’s weird because you mean so much to me, not because the thought of you as my girlfriend is weird.”
“Oh.”
Again with the one word. It was unusual for Willow and I didn’t like it one bit. I’d rather she tell me off than just give me one word.
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath and tugged on my already messed up hair. “I’m doing this all wrong.” I reached across the table and took her hand. At the gesture, her eyes reluctantly met mine. “You’re such a huge part of my life, always have been, and always will be. Girlfriend seems like such an insignificant term. I feel the same about boyfriend.”
“So…” She seemed to relax and one of her trademark sassy smiles lifted her lips. “You want us to come up with new terms?”
I grinned, nodding at her idea. “That’s an excellent idea.”
Her hand slipped from mine and she tapped her lip in thought. “I have to make this good.”
She had this dangerous look in her eyes that told me I was in trouble.
“I think…” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll call you Hot Buns.”
“Hot Buns?” I repeated in disbelief.
She shrugged and sat back with a smirk on her lips. “You have a nice ass. It seemed fitting.”
I snorted. “You’ve been checking out my ass?”
“Like I said, it’s nice.”
I shook my head. “I think I prefer boyfriend over that one. Why couldn’t you call me something like…Supreme Warrior Dean?”
