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378 pages, Paperback
First published February 26, 2013
She texted Sarah,
I made him laugh like an embarrassed teenage boy.
As she waited for Sarah's answer, she read her text over and considered it. She'd been a teenager, eighteen, and she assumed he'd been the same age, when they'd first met. Except she wasn't so sure they'd ever met, officially. So... when they first became aware of each other. Or when she first became aware of him. She did hope he knew who she was, and that he'd only been pretending to have a hard time placing her. She would hate to think that after all those nights she'd agonized over whether she could beat him for the Clarkson Prize, he hadn't even known she existed.
His eye looked as bad as it felt. At least his whole socket wasn't bruised, but the knuckle mark underneath was turning from red to purple. For the life of him he couldn't remember a single piece of advice that GQ had ever dispensed about this.
Classy.
He hated this job.
She turned to Lorelei. "Get the DJ to put on some Missy Elliott."
Um... kay." Lorelei scampered away.
As Wendy slipped out of the booth, Daniel slip to the seat where she'd been. "Your stripping soundtrack is Missy Elliott?"
"She was very big in 2003, and this was my small protest against the patriarchy. While stripping. I know. Shut up."
She teased him, singing, "You're going to get wrinkled," but her voice came out weak and pitiful.
"For some reason," he growled in her ear, "around you, I'm as wrinkled as I've ever been. Metaphorically speaking."
"I metaphorically wrinkle you," she puzzled...