“D-Drop-dead g-gorgeous, really.” “I . . . I don’t—are you—?” “I b-bet you s-strike a k-k-killer silhouette.” “You’re crying and trying to hit on me?” “I’m trying to make you laugh so you stop crying, because then I’ll stop crying,” I lamented, but it sounded more like I’mtryingtomakeyoulaughsoyoustopcryingbecausethenillstopcrying, and it was a miracle he even understood me at all.
