That voice. I know that voice. Roxane’s eyes go wide like saucers, buffoonery twitching on her lips as she glances over my head at the man behind me. It’s obvious whose shadow is cast over me—from her reaction alone, I know it’s *gulp* the Bulge—I mean . . . no, I’m not calling him that, he’s Mr. Red Shorts. Mr. Luxurious Lips. Do you feel the secondhand embarrassment for me?
