“I was going to,” I confirmed, setting the candy back down and shutting the door before following her into the living room, where she had already tossed her overnight bag, embroidered with a small “N. Thompson” on one side, onto the couch and begun digging through it, “but it turns out that I’m a bit of a whore.”
“Well, obviously,” she replied, deadpan until she caught my unamused glare. She giggled with a shrug. “Were you really expecting to find a non-children’s Alice in Wonderland costume that wasn’t meant to be sexy?”