Tonight, Not Again

I stared at the crystal-clear photograph of Rob and me leaving the bar. No matter how many times I looked at it, I still couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that I was in a tabloid. It was weird, looking at myself with my hair wild around my face and my eyes fixed on Rob.
I remembered that night: it had been a few days since he’d shown up to my place unexpectedly. He was trying to get me out of the bar as quickly as possible. Rob had been told that someone else had seen him there a week ago and everyone was onto him. It had been sort of thrilling, like some sort of wild goose chase. At first I couldn’t see any of the cameras, but they came quickly. I remembered wondering to myself, as I stumbled over my own feet while Rob dragged me away, why anyone would care so much about a person’s social life. Rob ended up pulling my through a back alley, which at the time seemed so much safer than the sidewalk, and into his car.

What a night that had been.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Rob paced back and forth through his kitchen. “I knew it was going to happen, but there really isn’t anything I can do about it.”
When Rob found out about the picture, he called me immediately—which didn’t surprise me. He had been so protective that night I almost thought he was going to punch somebody. In so many words, he was furious. But it was more of a frustrated furious. And then it got to be more of a “Well, what did you expect?” furious.
“Rob.” I wrangled him by the shoulders, which were incredibly tense, and looked into his eyes. “Really, it’s fine.”
“Maybe we just shouldn’t go out together.” By the look on his face, I could tell even he thought that was a stupid suggestion.
“That’s the best you’ve got?” I rolled my eyes. “I would have gone for a fake mustache even.”
“Zoey…” Rob sighed and shook his head. I was waiting for the smile. As time went on, his smile made me weaker and weaker in the knees.
“Or wigs. I can see you with an afro, yeah?” Rob studied me for a minute, his brow furrowing.
“Well, I have always wanted dreadlocks,” he deadpanned.

And there it was. That adorable, lopsided grin that reached up to his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, really.” As I spoke, I had trouble convincing even myself. Rob didn’t look too certain either. “Really.”
“You’ve said ‘really’ about five times.”
I smiled and pushed his shoulder playfully. “No. I don’t think I have…”