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“I’M JUST SAYING, the clock is ticking.” Fizzy waved vaguely toward Jess’s butt. “That booty won’t be high and tight forever, you know.”
Fizzy was made of charisma, witchcraft, and bad judgment.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re answering my questions,” Jess grumbled, “or continuing an ongoing conversation in your head.”
“He comes in here and emits the vibe that if anyone tried to talk to him, he would do a murder,” Jess quipped.
“Americano’s name is Dr. River Peña.” “Oh no,” Fizzy said, exhaling. “That’s a hot name, Jess.”
He was tall and thin and looked like every actor in every movie playing a scientist: Caucasian, glasses, needed a haircut. He was Jeff Goldblum, if Jeff Goldblum were also Benedict Cumberbatch.
“Listen to me. You’re so beautiful, it’s stupid. Your eyes? Like, I try to describe that blue in books, and it just sounds cliché. You have the cutest little bod, and literally the best lips. And for free! People usually have to pay for mouths like that.”
