“He’s my boyfriend, not a kidnapper.” I blurt out. “He has a birthmark shaped like Danny DeVito on his left butt cheek. He sleeps with a night light because he saw ‘The Exorcist’ when he was nine, and it traumatized him. He cries at dog food commercials but pretends it’s allergies. He has a collection of novelty socks with math equations on them. He once tried to make me breakfast in bed and set off the smoke detector trying to make toast.” Xander stares at me, his expression caught between horror and fascination.
