He says, “What?”
I realize I’ve been gazing dreamily at him and redirect my attention to unfolding my napkin and arranging it on my lap. “I was just wondering what happened to your hand.” I glance up at him. When his smile vanishes, I’m sorry I asked.
He flexes open his right hand and examines his scraped and bruised knuckles with a dark, dangerous look in his eyes. “I started working out with a heavy bag.”
“How interesting. Now how about you tell me the truth?’
He mutters, “Jesus, you’re a pain in my ass.”
“The Lord has nothing to do with it. Spill, Sparky, or I’ll tell your future wife you have a fetish for ladies underwear.”
“I do have a fetish for ladies underwear.”
“I meant wearing it.”
His quicksilver mood changes again. He smiles, pausing to consider me. “You would’ve made a
