Fiction 63

She nuzzles closer into his arms, tracing a line from his nose, to his neck. Her finger lingers on his Adam’s apple.

“Why is your Adam’s apple so pronounced?” she asks, giggling at his grimace.

“I don’t know. Ask Adam.”

“Haan, what?”

“His apple no, go ask him!”

“Seriously? That’s worse than the Oatmeal joke.” she giggles.

“Yet still, you stick around.  I wonder why…”

“Because you, sweetheart, are worth all the lame-ass jokes in the entire world.

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