Waiting for Angie’s reaction to the results,
I caught my breath until her blues drifted into the sky.
Angie’s eyes sliced my spirit and examined
the inconsistencies in my air-tight
backup tactic that I’d devised well before
I needed this facade.
One night, that’s all it was.
Her best friend got me drunk
and before I knew what hit me,
she had me on her bed; a target on my lips
that she missed when I dodged her advance.
The tricky gal handcuffed me as another checkmark on her bedpost,
creating unbearable headaches over drawn-out chats,
about how Angie set this up to see if I’d been faithful.
Angie’s friend graded me on a sliding scale.
But the next day, we did.
I cheated on the girl but passed the test.
Angie grinned. “I knew you’d pass.”
“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I’m committed—”
“By the way,” Angie said, brandishing her friend’s bra. “Who does the bra belong to?”
“So, can I retake the test?” I said as though I’d been cheated.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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