“Your eyes speak for themselves,” he says, his voice dripping with hypnotic arrogance. A judgmental head tilt. “And while I must admit you’re not exactly my type, I won’t hold it against you for playing hard to get, Azlan.” “You’re delusional.” “You’re in denial.” “It’s no wonder your wife left you.” “You continue to assume I am divorced,” he says in a relaxed tone, “without realizing I could be a widower.” My frappé plants down on the table in shock. Oh, shit.
