whatiwas

"By the way," I said over the blare of the music, "I've got your Dr. Pepper lip smacker."

Her eyes went wide for the umpteenth time in the conversation, flaring in that way I never grew tired of. "What?" She asked. "Are you sure? I have five of them."

"It's yours," I chuckled.

"When did you..." she hesitated, sipping her beer and glancing surreptitiously at our friends across the table. "When did I..." I couldn't tell if she was waiting for my o.k., or if there was an honest barrier preventing her from mentioning it.

Whether or not it actually existed, I smashed it nonetheless. "Oh, that night," I chuckled. "The night we..."

"...made out," she finished in unison with me, laughing aloud, smiling enormously and fixing me with her inescapable gaze.

"How soon you forget," I mused, half to myself, but still audible despite the noise.

"Yeah," she sighed after a moment.

"Too bad you disappeared after that."

"Yeah," she said again. "It's too bad, really, that I have to sort of exclusively make out with him, now; you were a really good kisser."

"Whatever," I shrugged, only half-meaning it and making sure she knew it.