He looked her in the eyes as he quoted her.She sat there on his lap just looking at him, afraid to say anything, afraid to breathe or move."Did you me...n what you said, Rebecca?" he asked. "Do you love me or was that just the ramblings of a half-asleep, worn out mind?"She looked down at his lap. "Yes," she said in a whisper barely discernible."What? Rebecca, look at me," he said. She looked up tears forming in her eyes."Tell me. Did you mean what you said last night? Do you love me?" he. The bitter coldness it oozed. And I knew I could not go on like that.But how to get proof?Proof of what?Finding them in bed together would be proof of her cheating, of course. But would not finding her in bed with him be proof of her innocence? Did I have to watch her 24/7 to be sure? And would that tell me anything about the past?I did not want proof of her guilt. I wanted proof of her innocence. Call it denial, I call it love. You might even call it stupidity or blindness.I'd still call it. He walked around to the driver’s side and stepped in. As much as I felt naked and vulnerable in front of Meredith and her friends, I felt twice as naked now. Nick’s eyes, despite his sweet voice and gentle manners, lingered on my little nubby breasts and body. I didn’t try to cover myself. I just shoved my hands between my legs and pressed my knees together tightly.“Can you take me home?” I asked.“Of course but you have to tell me what happened.”“I…please just take me home.” I said.“Ok. But can. And, two liters of ginger ale, our signature drink.”“I dunno,” Nichelle replied. “I’ve developed a taste for Champagne ... especially after how good it felt in bed.”“It was a lot of fun. Champagne is a bit out of my price range ... for now, that is. I fully expect, once I graduate and find a job, to be buying the stuff by the pallet-load.” He cracked open the bottle of ginger ale. “Until then, this will have to do.” Kit filled a couple plastic cups.“There should be ice in the fridge.”He opened.