Just Be True To Me

“Don’t you think you should show me it? After all, we’re here to purge.”

“Purge what?”

“Your closet. There’s never a good reason to be a hoarder.” He brushed past her, his hand on the doorknob when she slid between it and him. “It must be pretty bad.”

“It’s not.”

“Then let me in.”

Her lips curled. “You haven’t earned it yet.” Two fingers to his chest guided him backward. “This is still a new thing, sir. We’re still getting to know each other. I know you’re used to going 100 mph, but this is a 20 mph relationship, sir.” She instructed him to have a seat before disappearing into the room.

The punishment was actually a blessing in disguise. The living room held captured memories of significant events that Mia had told him about. He was most taken by the ones that featured her in her younger form, her two front teeth missing, the smile contrasting with the large gash on the front of her knee. He assumed her father had taken the photo because her mother was standing next to her, worry all over her face.

Another showed her playing basketball. He was holding the frame when she entered the room.

After tossing the mountain of clothes on the floor, she sat next to him. “That was the championship game. I had 20 points, 11, assists and 6 rebounds. You’re looking at the YMCA 2002 Championship MVP.”

“2002? You’re still a baby.” Putting the picture down, he picked up the one of her parents. “They look happy.”

“Smiles hide a lot. They did a good job because I had no idea they weren’t happy.” She redirected her attention to the clothes in an obvious attempt at changing the topic. “We might as well get to it. I have more clothes than I thought I did.” She held the top-most shirt over her chest and poked her lip out. “I really liked this when I bought it.” Without warning, she pulled her shirt over her head. She then stood, putting her midriff on display.

Clifford closed his mouth and adverted is eyes.

“What do you think?”

The low cut called his gaze to her chest. Bits of jealousy began to present themselves as he imagined what was going through the minds of the men who got to see her in the shirt. “Uh, it looks good. A little tight.”

“I can stand to lose a couple pounds.”

“You’re perfect. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with you. You look great the way you are.” He smacked his forehead. “If you still want it, I can get my tailor to make some alterations.”

“I don’t like this,” she said, pulling a dress over her head. With no hesitation, Mia stepped out of her pants. The silky material slid easily over her skin. She smoothed the dress out on her thighs, the fabric conforming to their size and shape. It melted onto her curves, the cream color the only thing that differentiated it from her skin.

Clifford swallowed the extra saliva. “Don’t like what?”

“You being so nice. Go back to being the asshole. I was starting to like him.”

His gazed flowed over her body, taking every inch of its softness as she checked herself in the mirror. Starting at her fingertips, which held her hair on the top of her head, he traced the line that descended down her arm to her ribcage, his eyes lingering on the spot where her bre*st connected to her torso. His lips parted once more. He was a bre*st man. He followed the perfect curve of her ass which led to her strong legs, the tour ending with her French pedicured toes. He forced his eyes back to her face, not confident he would be able to keep from touching her if they reversed course.

“I think I’m keeping this one. I might wear it to court.”

“You don’t think it’s too revealing.”

“I might need to cut the neck hole lower.” She winked at him. “The courtroom is no different than the strip club. S*x sells.”

Clifford bit his tongue, reminding himself that their relationship wasn’t real. “If you think that’s best.”

He appreciated the fact that she’d gotten so comfortable around him, changing clothes, being vulnerable with no fear. He liked that she wasn’t ashamed of her body. The discolored skin that stretched across her hips gave her character. The scars on her legs showed that she wasn’t afraid of adventure. Even her birthmark was cute. Located in the center of her inner thigh, he wondered how many men were aware of it. And how they came to be aware of it. And how long it took for them to become aware of it. The questioned burned in his mind.

“When was your last real relationship?”

She said, “Depends on how you define real.”

“When was the last time you were in love?”

Mia allowed her arms to fall to her sides, continuing to face the mirror. “Three years ago. The relationship ended three years ago, I mean.”

The change in her demeanor told him that it had ended badly. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

***

“It’s cool, I’m over it now.” She changed outfits as she talked. The bits that were still sensitive manifested themselves in the way she ripped the clothes off the hangers.

His name was Darren and he was the reason, perhaps even the catalyst for her joining the feminist movement. Her quest for making partner partially stemmed from the verbal abuse she’d sustained, him constantly reminding her that she wasn’t good enough, smart enough, or pretty enough to amount of anything of substance. There was not a moment when she was with him where she didn’t question herself. Though they didn’t show—rather, she didn’t allow them to show—the scars still lingered.

“As your pretend boyfriend, I just want you to know that if I ever run into him, I’ll kick his ass.”

“You’ll kick his ass?” she asked, smiling.

“I’ll give the order and my security team will kick his ass.” Though he was laughing, she could tell he was serious. “What was his last name?”

“Houghton.” She snapped around. Snatching the phone out of his hand, she saw that he was in the process of performing a Google search. “You don’t have to worry about him. He’s long gone. Plus, if we were to run into him, I would have to get the first shot. I still got a lot of sh*t that I need to take out on him.”

Clifford pushed the ottoman out the of the center of the room. After tossing the clothes on the couch, he removed his shirt and shoes. He then began stretching his arms, back, and neck. “Come on.”

“What are you talking about?”