June said. She was dressed as a pornographic Tinkerbell, complete with a sparkly pink strap-on adorning the front of her outfit. Over that she wore a long trench coat that hung to her ankles. Her husband, Mark, also known as Scrye to his friends, let out a snort. “Nooo. Enlighten me, please. You’ve only been talking about it nonstop for the past two weeks.” “Well, look how long it’s been since we’ve gotten out. What, Valentine’s Day? I can’t help it. I want to see everyone.” “Sorry.” “I wasn’t blaming you.” “Yeah, you were.” “Okay, I was, but I didn’t mean to sound bitchy about it.” He smiled. “You weren’t bitchy. I just like banking the guilt trip.” “Sadist.” “That’s ‘sadist Sir,’ to you.” June blew him a raspberry.
