And then, as if on-cue the fasten-seat belt light comes on, and the captain informs us that we’re beginning our approach. The stewardess raises an eyebrow at us. XXX I do, and I tell you this round is on me. I do, and I tell you this round is on me. “MMM. You want to. Smoothly replying I don’t need an app to wink at the hottest girl on this flight. I mean you’re still sweet and geeky, but also canny, chic, demure, and you manage to pull all of this off while cursing like a sailor. Our conversation ironically veers into the banal now as we try to fit the puzzle pieces of our separate lives together into something that might make sense. Bust my cherry. Lovely. I want you to want me, even though I already know you do.
