“’Cause if it’s PMS, tell me now,” I say, “and I’ll bail. Hell, there are some months when I can’t even stand myself.” A small grin creases his mouth. “I’m not used to doing favors,” he says. “And I’m also not used to”—he pauses—“not used to finding that I enjoy them.” “Awww,” I say. “Is that a compliment?” “Yes. And that’s unusual, too.” “Why?” “Because I don’t like anyone.” “Me either.” His grin widens. “That’s not true. Your problem is you like too many people.” “I do?” “You have a big heart.” “And you don’t?” He shakes his head with minimal energy, barely a twitch. “I keep it small and wrapped in a full-metal jacket. Makes it harder to hit.”