Her: I think we can work something out. Ha ha. Is orange juice your normal metric when rotating tires, or are you from Islamabad?

I don't know what she meant by that last part. Maybe I am not a good lip reader after all.

As for the kept women, they all ordered whiskey and Diet Cokes, so freaking predictable. I am, like, so much cooler than they are. I scooched down farther into my comfy seat and pulled my coat up around my neck. I could have sat here for days. Or at least until the concierge caught on.

The boy and the mama stood up, but instead of the boy offering his hand to her, she offered her hand to him and helped him up off of the couch. That's gonna cost extra. Oh yes. A deal had definitely been struck.

"Shall Ben Gazzara kayak the rue de Rivoli?" she asked him on the way out.

"Only if a wombat jet skis," he laughed, slowly moving his hand down her back and leading her out.

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