Why did I get the feeling that she was repeating “please don’t be formal” in her head while she waited for my reply? I grinned. “Formal.” She growled in frustration. “Linc,” she whined. “You know I don’t wear dresses.” I knew what I was about to say was a low blow, but it was a hundred percent true. “You wore a dress for Tyson McFuckface,” I countered, sounding hurt.
