“I can’t come with you to Vegas,” she said, matter of fact.
“Baby, why? Please.” He reached out for her hand, eyes somber, yet like his usual self, glimmering and hopeful.
“Because every time I go, I make out with someone. If I’m there I’ll want to make out with someone. You really don’t know me, I’ll ditch you when we’re there.” She was being so honest with him, about her past and her habits, it was odd for her.
“You’ve made out with random people?” As if that was the problem, he couldn’t care less who she had made out with before. She was with him now. But the problem was she didn’t think she was with him now. That she was his, like he was hers.
“Haven’t you ever?”
“Ya, obviously. But baby, I’ll be there, make out with me.” He reached and squeezed her hands.
“I don’t know, you don’t know me. And I don’t know your friends. I don’t know.”
Well he knew her, more than she thought. And they went to Vegas for the weekend, and she only made out with him. She only wanted to make out with him. And ofcourse his friends loved her. And theirs was the most healthy relationship ever.