Ask questions! Experiment!

"It's not bullshit!" Mary protests. She sounds slightly hurt, actually. "It's - you were touching my leg when you said the words, and I - I just knew...I belong to you, now." She takes another deep breath. "Hooo. It's weird to say that, but it's true. And it feel good! Honestly, it does. It feels like I have a sense of...purpose that I didn't before. I mean I still love psych and stuff, but this is..." She looks at him and breaks into a brilliant smile. "I just want to make you happy, Grant. Whatever it is that'll do that...that's what I want to do."

"Ok, haha," Grant says. He shoves up from the couch, stalking away from her. "Very funny."

"Wha - it's not a joke!" Mary protests. "I would never joke about you."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Grant turns back to her, folding his arms. "So you expect me to believe that just because I touched you and said some magic words, now you're my, my what?? My ****?"

"I mean...I could be that, if you want me to be." Grant scoffs. "No, I mean, I could be! But it's not just that, it's...whatever you want. Whatever will make you happy." Mary looks up at him, her brown eyes wide and pleading. "Please. Test me, if you want. Whatever you tell me to do, I'll do it! If it'll make you happy."

"So what, when I say jump, you - " Mary leaps to her feet and jumps into the air, landing lightly on the rug.

"Ta-da," she says, splaying out only slightly ironic jazz hands.

“Ok, sure,” Grant sighs. “Look, how far are you gonna push this?”

“I mean…as far as I have to? I don’t WANT to keep going over this, Grant, but I want you to believe me!”

“So if I told you to…I don’t know. Twerk? You’d do that?”

“Yes! Want me to?”

“Yeah, why not.” Without missing a beat, Mary spins on her socked feet and begins twerking. Well, trying to twerk, anyway. It’s painfully clear she hasn’t done this before, and she doesn’t have a whole lot to work with in the posterior department. Grant can’t help but snort as he watches his friend shake her sweatpants-clad ass in his direction. Mary falters.

“S-Sorry," she says, blushing as she stops jerking her hips. "I...I've never really done that before. I just wanted you to like it..."

"No, I mean, I did. It was funny, anyway. You're a funny girl."

Mary beams. "Thanks! I'm glad you think so. It...means a lot to me."

"Yeah, sure." Grant chuckles. "Ok, Mary. That's enough. Let's just watch our trash TV now, huh?"

"Of course! If that's what you want to do," she says with a grin. Grant groans.

"What do you want to do?"

"I keep telling you, Grant." Mary crosses the space between them, taking his hands in a surprisingly tender gesture, gazing up at him through long, black lashes. "Everything is different now. I want to do what you want me to do."

There's a long, tense moment of the two of them staring at each other in silence. Suddenly they hear a distant, feminine scream. "People have started to figure it out," Mary mutters.

Grant turns and stares in the direction of the scream - outside, toward downtown. It can't be... he thinks. He looks back at Mary. She gazes at him steadily. He's always known she was lovely: with European and Chinese heritage, she's pale-skinned but has mid-back length, perfectly straight black hair that frames her angular face and deep brown eyes. The swell of her full breasts is accentuated by a waist kept trim by four years on the college tennis team and dedicated play afterward, and her chest rises and falls steadily in the tank top she's wearing as she meets his gaze, allowing him just a hint of her cleavage. They'd never interacted romantically or sexually in college, and when they graduated it seemed more important to have a reliable friend around than chance their friendship on a date. But now there's something about the way she's looking at him that's making feelings stir deep in his belly.

Grant swallows. No, it can't be. I have to... He takes a deep breath. "Slap yourself," he says, as firmly as he can manage. It comes out a bit weak.

Mary blinks. "You want me to..."

"Slap yourself. In the face. Now." This time the order comes stronger. He's gaining confidence. There it is. She won't -

Mary slaps herself.

Not lightly, either. Her open hand flies up and strikes her cheek with a sharp slap, turning her head to one side as she gasps. She swallows as she slowly brings her gaze back around to Grant. There are tears standing in her eyes and her lower lip is trembling, but she meets his gaze. Her own handprint, on her cheek, is reddening slightly.

"Holy shit," Grant whispers, horror-stricken. "That's...I'm sorry, Mary!"

"Don't be," she whispers, smiling slightly. "It's...ok, if it made you happy. Or, even better - if you believe me now."

"I guess...I guess I have to," he whispers. He reaches out and gently strokes her cheek where she slapped herself. "Christ, Mary, I'm sorry."

"It's ok." Mary sighs contentedly and gently nuzzles her cheek into his hand, smiling slightly. "I'll always do whatever makes you happy."