“You’re such a,” I search for the right word, and my brain fails me. “A what?” “Lothario.” Did I even use that right? Fletcher mouths the word Lothario like it’s bitter—a battery touching the tip of his tongue, sending a shiver down his spine. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, and I don’t even know what it means.” I’m suddenly thinking I don’t know what it means either, so I just skirt right past that.
