“Hey, I’d make a damn fine husband. I’m very low maintenance,” Scott declares with confidence. “I don’t get that impression. You’re quite needy . . . passing out in clinics, constantly needing your ego stroked and such.” “Minor details. I really only require two things. Regular sex and food.” “That’s a tall order,” I tease. My skin prickles at the sight of his dimples. “Wanna get married if we’re both forty and still single?” he asks.
