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"Could you stop talking?" he whispered."Sure, just give me a second. This is kind of important." He turnedback to his hushed conversation and something inside Steve snapped."No, listen to me." He wasn't yelling yet, but in the otherwise quietcinema his raised voice may as well have been a shout. "That's fuckingunacceptable. Either put the phone away or go outside. And take yourfucking imported wife with you," he added for good measure.Steve was oblivious enough to expect the other movie goers to at least bequietly grateful for his intervention against the man on the phone. Hedidn't get a chance to gauge their apathy as the young woman accompanyinghis victim turned with fury in her eyes."How dare you!" she screeched in perfect, unaccented English. "That's myDad you fucking racist piece of shit. And even if we were married youshould keep your redneck opinions to yourself." Unlike Steve she wasshouting and more and more of the other patrons were turning around towatch the. Matt. The artist. From high school. I had no idea he was attending college here, it didn’t occur to ask all those years ago… He swaggered over to me in his loose jeans and button-down shirt –which was only half buttoned showing off the tattoo on his chest– and grabbed my hand. My stomach did a little flutter. ‘This, is yours Matt?’ I asked as I handed it back to him. He nodded, put it into his back pocket and began to lead me upstairs to –what I was assuming— his bedroom. I could hear James saying to Jared, ‘What a shame, that a banging body like hers would be wasted on a scrub like Matt.’ I could only hope that Matt didn’t hear that. God, his eyes were still gorgeous. The room was surprisingly nice. There was a queen sized bed, and that was the only bed there. He had a balcony that had French doors. Matt closed the door to the room behind me, and looked down at me. He pulled me into a hug. I was a little surprised at this, but then softened and hugged him back. He smelled like.
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