’ ‘But I am working.’ ‘Well, females and I aren’t actually on speaking terms.’ I used air quotes for the last two words. ‘You mean you�...re afraid to talk to girls?’ ‘Precisely,’ I flipped the page. ‘But you’re talking to me.’ ‘From my understanding, I am paying you to talk to me.’ Abigail let out a slight giggle. She obviously didn’t understand the severity of my condition. She focused on me and realized I was being serious. She knelt down and put her hand over mine. I shivered and patiently. “You’re my favorite,” he said offhand. “Favorite?” “Yeah,” he stammered. “My favorite lips to kiss. My favorite name to see appear on my cell phone. My favorite way to spend an afternoon, you know, my favorite.” “You’re my favorite too,” she stared down at her bare feet. She stood against the wall, the brick wall in her loft apartment that she had painted in fuzzy duck yellow, princess pink and majesty purple. She was injured, mentally and emotionally, literally and metaphorically. Standing. More

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