“Row,” Cal chided, “I’m trying to eat here.” “So am I.” Oh god. Would Child Protective Services intervene for a twenty-six-year-old? “I just caught Mama and Marty boning each other against the backyard door,” I blurted out. This is why you’re bussing tables and not keeping government secrets, Dylan. “Holy shit,” Cal—or Dot, because of the cluster of freckles on her nose and cheeks, proof God had sprinkled her with magic dust—said. “I mean, go Zeta. She deserves some action, but also…sorry for your loss.” Cal snort-laughed. “You know, of appetite, libido, et cetera.” “It gets worse.” I mustered
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