“You have got to stop dressing me like a night walker,” I drawled. “Men are going to start asking me how many tokens for a session.” It was the sort of lifestyle I was sure my mom indulged in. She called it survival, but when she spent all the tokens on alcohol, I called it destructive. “I have a lot of tokens,” Siret deadpanned. I snorted. “You don’t need them.” The humour died off his face. “Willa …”
