You should start up a radio show or podcast, Leon thinks. You’ve got the personality and motor mouth to hit big. Who knows, he might call up a guy for you and you could be a star in two years’ time.

That’s nonsense, though. You’ve got no interest to sit in a loveseat and talk to a microphone all day, and Leon knows this. No, instead you’d rather sit in his lap or straddle his chest or lay on his chest and then babble your mouth off — much like how you’re doing it right now.

“Leon, I’m so serious,” Leon likes your voice. He likes how it sounds when he takes you to bed, when you watch a card reader approve a pricy transaction for you in his name, when it’s late at night and you deliriously insist on telling him how much you love you.

“I went to go get drinks for me and my friends, it was this random gas station. I go up, and the guy behind the counter calls me ‘ma’am’. Babe, do I look old? Like, am I aging?”

You say that word with so much venom it makes Leon swallow. It seems like a punishment worse than banishment to Hell for you, so what does that say about how you perceive him? Leon nods distractedly, his eyes unfocused as they stare at your sternum.

You don’t take it as anything beyond an appreciation for your asset. What a perceptive young lady, Leon’s girlfriend.