My Best Friend's Father
“Chivalry’s dead—and you know that’s not my name.”
“Your crusty lips aren’t chivalry. Use my name, and I’ll use yours.” I smile—that’s my girl. Brandi laughs, handing him a plate.
“Crusty? Women write sonnets about these lips. Right, Pineapples?”
“I’ve heard a few,” she agrees, earning scowls from Gianna and me.
“You’re supposed to be *my* best friend, B.” *And my woman,* I want to add but can’t.