purpose.” “Wow. Okay.” He could hear that she was smiling, but the dichotomy of square and hip, the unfairness of it, was offensive to him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a square,” she said. “I think it’s cute. But I gather you’ve never tried pot yourself?” “Ah, no. Have you?” “Not—yet.” There was a twinkle in her voice. He took his eyes off the road and saw that she was watching him for a reaction. She seemed very activated, very happy with herself; seemed ready to play. He, too, had come to play, but his game wasn’t flirting. He had no faith in his skills there. “Your question,” he said.
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