“June’s supposed to be daisies and wafty breezes.” Peabody waved a hand in the air. “Instead we’re getting thunder boomers and humiture to kill.” “I like the boomers.” Peabody’s dark eyes narrowed as she studied Eve’s angular face. “You probably had lots of sex last night. You’re almost perky.” “Shut up. I’m never perky.” “Almost. You’re verging on perk.” “You’re verging on a boot up the ass.” “That’s better anyway.”
