“You really like this guy.” An annoying singsong quality permeated Clara’s voice. “On a professional level.” With Naomi’s résumé, it was reasonable to use professional to mean she wanted to fuck him. “No,” Clara chewed her bottom lip. “On a . . . hand-holding, picnic-in-the-park, do-his-whole-astrological-chart-to-see-if-you’re-compatible level.” “That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
