"Maybe I am."
"That's silly."
Mark swallowed and said stiffly, "Just because there is a no-fight clause in your invitation tonight doesn't necessarily mean I have to follow it, you know. You don't need weapons. I could strangle your protobody easily."
"You wouldn't," she said confidently.
"You sure don't think much of me, do you?"
"I think just the same of you as you do of me," she said simply.
With impulsive hunger, Mark threw his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, nuzzling her, smelling the perfume of her hair, incoherently mumbling into her ear. "Jennette, Jennette," he sang, "I think more of you than anything. I love you. I know it's wrong, but I would never even shoot you, because sometimes it hurts you, and I wouldn't want you to feel even the slightest discomfort." He stopped, took a deep breath, and added meekly, "I'm sorry."
"But Mark," she whispered. "Why is it really so wrong?"
"You know."
"Suppose I told you that this body is my protobody right now?" she asked earnestly.