“Yes, miss,” he teased, making an effort to shake off his obvious depression, even though she could tell that it lingered just beneath the surface. “Now tell me more. I want to know everything—length, girth, angle. Pointing downward, straight ahead, or kissing the navel?”

“Seriously?” She choked back a laugh.

“Well, if that thing points down, it just looks flaccid and . . . I dunno, incapable somehow.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Why ...