When my gaze shoots straight up to the sky, it’s eclipsed by a pair of red shorts. Oh, dear heavens . . . the bulge. Right there, in broad daylight—well, technically in broad night . . . light? Is that a thing? Either way, there it is, all bulgy and round and . . . wow, I want to touch it. Don’t, Tessa! Do not reach out to touch it.
