Rude.

But they can skip the preamble. There’s an air of pages being hooked under, a thick chapter flopped over and smoothed right to left in a deeper draw of breath and a harder screw-turn of eye contact along the table. He’s sat beside rather than across, the chair angled in -- close enough for a sharp kick in the shins, should either of them be so inclined.

Thot licks her nose, blue over black.

“Tell me why you’ve been angry with me.”