He stared at me as if the ice cream in question was coming out of my ears. “What are you talking about?”
“You asked me if I liked your mouth. I said I do. What’s the big deal?”
He showed me the tips of his fingers, then bared his lips at me. Just to the right of his upper two front teeth, a dark gap showed. “I meant how bad was the damage? Does the missing tooth make me look dashing and dangerous, like a pirate, or creepy and disturbing, like a c***k addict who lives under a bridge?”
“Dashing,” I reassured him. “Definitely dashing.”
He eyed me. “You’re lying.”
“Just a little. You’re not quite a sexy pirate, but also not a bridge-dwelling c***k addict. More . . .”
“A swashbuckler?”
I wrinkled my nose. “More someone who was in a bar fight and lost a tooth.”
“Lovely.” He made a face t
