“I asked you.” I tried peering into his face, dread blooming in the pit of my stomach. “Because you live there. Wikipedia says so. So it must be right. It’s right, right?” “Great, another stalker.” He scowled, stabbing a piece of prosciutto with a plastic fork, loading it onto his plate. Another? How many were there? “You’re famous and I grew up with you. Of course, I jealousy-googled you. It’s not like I stole your sperm. And hey, I actually had the chance.”
