“Why are you being so obtuse about this?” He crossed his forearms. “Because I’ve never met an angel who refused to display her wings.” “What can I say? I’m unique.” “Celeste . . .” He was doing it again. Growling first names as though they constituted perfectly adequate full sentences. “My nickname in the guild was winglet.” “And?” “If you had a tiny penis, would you display it?” The question whizzed out before I could choose a better metaphor. For all I knew, the archangel wasn’t generously endowed. Being big everywhere could be deceptive . . . I’d found this out first-hand. His eyes widened
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