“Lord have mercy,” Sheila whispers. “I haven’t had a hot flash in twenty years, but I’m sweating right now,” Evelyn murmurs. “Is he picturing you naked?” Odette asks. “What kind of question is that?” Evelyn retorts. “Of course he is. Look at the man.” I bite my lip, because honestly? Him looking at me like that is making me picture him naked. And Fletcher Huxley naked should be classified as one of the greatest world wonders.
