“How embarrassing—” she starts rubbing her throat. “Running into you guys like this.” I imagine replacing her hand with mine and squeezing until every bit of her is gone. “Look at me—” she exclaims and boy are you ever. “All sweaty and gross. I’ve just come from tennis…I just knew I should have changed,” she says loudly. “But what can you do?” she asks, her voice raising, clearly doing the opposite of what she says she wants to do—drawing attention to herself—and I can think of a few things I’d like to do. You seem to sense my irritation; I can tell by the way you place your hand over mine. “It’s hard to fit it all in,” she drones on. You don’t say anything, which is only because she’s half-naked; usually you excel at cutting off conversations you don’t want to have.
knewI’d“Tell me abou
