“Martin?” She met his eyes, beat back her incipient panic, and offered a ladder to her tower. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” * * * Martin’s muscles lost all ability to move, including his tongue. Which was fine for the moment, because every conceivable answer to her inconceivable question was ricocheting around his overtaxed mind. Yes! Holy fuck, yes! No. Nononono. Excuse me, were you talking to me? Old Sobersides? Are you certain?
