“It means,” he says, dropping his voice so low I can hardly hear it, “that Randy is a boy. And you…” With careful deliberation, he lets his eyes scale my body from my sparkly cowgirl boots to my tiny front accent braid. “You are the kind of woman who needs a man with enough experience to know how to handle all those curves and sassy remarks.” My breathing…never mind. There is no breathing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I just died.
