Bradley
“Oh I’m telling you, it exists.”
Holly was slapping me in the arm every time I teased her. Somehow, though I maintained my stoic expression. I’d kept from laughing, even in the face of grave, boyfriend-slapping danger.
“There is not a museum of s*x,” she admonished me.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“And how long have you been here in New York?”
She rolled her eyes skyward for a moment, as if the answer were up there. “Two years. Going on three.”
“Then you’re lying,” I said. “Or you’re crazy. Or you’re blind. But there’s no way I believe you haven’t gone there yet.” I looked her up and down. “Especially someone as sexy as you.”
I sipped at my straw, until there was nothing left in my cup but ice. We were already full of pizza. Joe’s pizza. The best pizza.
“Not onl
