Page 75 of The C*ck Down the Block

I whispered back, “They’re haters, and we’re going to tell them to go fuck themselves. I think Jesus would approve, don’t you?”

I stepped up to the microphone and said, “Write this down, ladies and gentlemen. I’m not apologizing for doing something that grown ass adults do. Maybe we should have saved it for when we got home, but don’t blame me for being hot for my gorgeous girlfriend.”

Just like we knew they would, the press exploded. But I was done listening to them or their questions. This was my game, my rules. “And don’t think I don’t see those of you who are writing shitty things about her. If you’re the kind of garbage human being that like to try and make someone else feel worthless because of their size, shape, or what the scale says, then you can see yourself out.”

That made most of them quiet down. This was definitely not the press conference they expected. And it was a hell of a lot more fun getting to tell them all off instead of kowtowing to what was expected.

One of the reporters I recognized from a reputable news outlet actually raised his hand like at a normal press conference, and so I returned the favor by calling on him. “George?”

He stood and straightened his jacket. “Yes, George Zeleny, International Sports.”

“I know who you are George, ask your question.”

He nodded. “Respectfully, Chris, do you and Ms. Moore not bear any of the blame? You did have relations in a public place.”

“Thanks for asking, George. I already said, we aren’t apologizing for being in love and showing each other that love. How about you focus the blame on the guy who filmed us without our knowledge and consent, and not only posting it for his own fifteen minutes of fame, but for selling the video for a lot of money.”

Trixie pinched my thigh. Oops. I’d said too much. I was still cranky about Anthony.

Another reporter whom I didn’t know didn’t raise his hand and just shouted out. “Are you calling out Anthony Nergal, aka Anthony Am I The Asshole specifically?”

I looked to Trixie. I’ve been in the spotlight since college, and since I wasn’t an asshole, I’d made a few friends and connections along the way.While I knew exactly how much that little cockroach got for that tape, we weren’t going to acknowledge him.

“Are you going to sue?”

I would happily spend my entire fucking bowl winning bonus to make sure he was exposed for the rat that he is.

Although, Trixie’s mom was going to sue the shit out of him for running the so called Sunshine Babcock fan club. He’d been pirating her videos for years, and she had him dead to rights on a whole lot of copyright and trademark infringement. Mrs. Moore was a smart and savvy businesswoman at her core, and Anthony was a fly by the seat of his pants dumbass running a side gig.

But again, I stayed silent. It was Trixie’s turn. She smiled at George and waited for the rest of them to quiet down again. After a full minute, she used that sexy as hell stern librarian look on them and they finally shut the fuck up.

TAKE UP SPACE

TRIXIE

Chris stayed silent and waited for me. The tension in the room only increased as I gave them all my patented librarian shush look. A whole gaggle of mostly male reporters finally quieted down, some of them looking a bit abashed, and awaited our next words expectantly. I felt a jittery rush of adrenaline, but also a newfound will welling up inside me.

Take up space, Beatrix. Don’t apologize, and don’t let the world shame you for being you.

I took a step forward and tapped the microphone, commanding everyone’s attention.

“I have something to say as well,” I announced. My voice was clearer than I’d expected, like the ringing of a bell that can’t be unrung.

But instead of looking toward the reporters, I turned toward Chris and met his eyes. The love I found there steeled me for what I was about to do. “You see, life, society, they all have a lot of opinions about who we should be. What we should hide, and what we should apologize for.”

I felt my hand tremble, not from fear, but from a pulse of audacity. I felt almost reckless, but in the best way possible.

“So, I’m asking,” I glanced out at the reporters, then gestured toward Chris and myself, “will you all help us rewrite that script right here, right now? What if none of us had to declare that we won’t be shamed into hiding our love or our lives?”

The room was in a stunned silence now. Even the cameras seemed to hesitate in their relentless flashing. I took a deep breath, locked my eyes onto Chris’s, and while I’d just invited the world in, we were still the only two people in the world.

“Christopher Bridger Kingman,” I said, “you make me want to live a big, bold life filled with friends and family and chickens and football and so much love. I want everyone in the world to know, and I’m not sorry even a little bit that people got to see the passion between us. But I want them to see the pure, unadulterated love we feel too. Will you marry me?”

The world stood still. The reporters, the cameras, the blinding lights, all of it faded away, leaving only Chris and his answer that would tip the scales of my life one way or another.

He took a step toward me, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Damn it, chickadee. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little blue box. I didn’t even look at it as he slipped it on my finger. Partly because I was blinking away my own tears and partly because I couldn’t look away from his eyes.

---