When I stay silent, her eyes widen in alarm. “No.” “Aye. Stroked your fingers down my cheek like it was made of mink.” To see how she’ll handle it, I slip in, “You also told me how handsome I am.” Her smile returns. “Now I know you’re lying.” She doesn’t think I’m handsome? That stings. I don’t care about her opinion, of course, it’s just that women are always telling me how good-looking I am.
