Nobody said anything that time. Or maybe I just wasn’t listening. After all, someone had to keep an eye on the fridge.

I’m driving,” Louis-Cesare said, sliding into the low seat as easily as if he’d done it a hundred times. “You’re drunk.” I wished. “I had all of two beers, mostly for the water content.” “If you needed water, why didn’t you drink water?” “I don’t like water.

It's about time! It's supposed to be a ritual, not a marathon.

Then why are you getting dressed?” “Maybe I don’t like being the only naked one in the room,” I said sarcastically. And immediately regretted it. “That is easily remedied,” he told me, and pulled off his sweater.

You love me?" He just looked at me for a moment. And then he reared back his head and laughed, a rich, mellow sound, unreserved and unashamed. " No, not at all. I regularly battle gods for women I dislike!

What?” I said defensively, clutching the mink and my dignity. Since I was barefoot, mostly naked and completely hungover, I was pretty sure I grasped only one of them.

Mr. Complete Lack of Sympathy