“I still don’t think the ‘rents trust me,” I said, handing him a wet glass. Drying it seductively, he maintained eye contact with me.
“Why should they, you’re a cradle robber,” he chuckled.
We were wearing mismatched pajamas. He had on the pants, and I was swimming in his 2X shirt.
“You were also my one and only serious relationship.” He twirled his damp towel, raising the weapon over his shoulder to crack me on the ass with a wicked whiplash.
“I had to train you right,” I countered, side-stepping the flick. “After 30 years I’m just about done.”