He looks sexy as fuck. He’s browsing the chalk menu at the pancake food truck that’s parked across the street. I watch Mason pull off his neck tie and stuff the fabric into his pocket. He rolls back his shirt sleeves with the finesse of an Old Hollywood movie star. Beside me, I hear Daphne emit a wheezy sound. Her plastic spoon falls from her fingers. “Is it just me or is the world moving in slow motion out of nowhere?” she asks, her eyes transfixed to the window. Layla is fanning her ruddy cheeks. “And why do I hear sexy Kenny G. saxophone music playing in my head all of a sudden?” “Pick your
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