The contact doesn’t help. At all. Cringing, I take a step back. “Please behave,” I almost beg. “Define behave.” “Why do you have to make everything hard?” She fights back a laugh as I realize the innuendo she just ran with. “I make things hard. Good to know.” The inside of my cheek burns as I bite down on it. “Sorry.” She clears her throat. “So I should make it clear that we aren’t screwing?” “Can we not talk about us screwing on my grandmother’s back porch?”
