“You know,” Beau said, hanging Ann-Marie’s suit bag over the plastic back of the chair in the food court, “if there’s one thing I didn’t miss about having a girlfriend—I mean aside from the girl-bits that I never quite knew what to do with—it’s this.”
“Shopping?”
“Carrying all your s**t,” Beau said.
“That’s totally not my fault,” Ann-Marie snarked. “That horrible sales lady handed it to you, even though I paid for it! Besides, I’m carrying your milkshake.” She handed it to him.
“She wasn’t horrible. And no, the suit isn’t horrible and your makeup isn’t horrible, and the haircut is actually pretty cute, so will you please stop?”
“I hate this kind of stuff,” Ann-Marie said. She threw herself down in the chair, violently scraping metal legs across tile flooring.
“Shopping?” Beau snicker
