“What are you doing?” he asked. “Changing into pajamas,” I said, because I wasn’t going to explain the real issue. “You’re—Jesus, Emme.” A groan, a ragged exhale, and then the water turned off. “I’m warning you right now I’m not in the mood for another one of your fuck-arounds.” “You’re not in the mood? Please. Don’t you think I have better things to do?” I asked as I pulled a tank top over my head. “I mean, I’m getting married in two days and I might have to birth some giant babies bred for the backfield. Fucking with you about whether I’m wandering around my room topless—” “Emmeline.” “—is
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