Couldn’t help it, really. I’d gone into full-blown stupid mode. Clicking on Hannah’s number, I hit the text box and typed. We doing your place or mine? I waited, watching two kids on scooters race by on the sidewalk. Her reply came through seconds later. Are you up front on my couch? I grinned and replied. Nope. Breaking in your new chair. Spun it around a quarter turn. Better angle . . . Her message bubble popped up while she typed her reply. Did you just make that dirty? I laughed. Is that what three little dots does to you? I’ll have to do it more often . . . A minute passed. Then another. No whirring noises happened. I began to wonder if Little Miss Ice Queen had frosted over, or melted down. Finally, her message bubble showed her typing again. Your place. I nodded. My roommate might be there . . . The sigh I heard was so loud, she had to be standing right inside the kitchen doorway. I am NOT interpreting those three dots to be anything sexual.
