“Hey, it’s me, Perci. Remember? I live down the hall from you.” An eyebrow hitched over a murky-colored eye. “I remember.” I propped an elbow on the bar and set my chin in my palm. Nate turned toward me, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “Has anyone ever told you that you have weird eyes?” I said. A corner of his mouth quivered. “Has anyone ever told you you don’t have to say every thought out loud?” “Yep. Diarrhea of the mouth. I’m afraid it’s a chronic condition.” I grimaced.
