[ There might be some element of sex factor at play here, given the bullshit outfit Carmy is wearing. The one she just wiped her mouth on, making him blink and flush — or maybe that's the immediate shut down. Making his dick twitch even if she's not — they're not — she's just being honest. He did a bad job. ]

Please.

[ Not a begging tone, more of a yes, more than willing to have her show him up. If she can up his game in any way, he'll honestly take it.

Parisa makes him feel crazy in a good way, she's so small and knows exactly how to crack under his oyster shell and shuck it. An expert at being a woman in a way that elevates the whole concept of womanhood, helps gel femininity in his mind after years of figuring out how to do masculinity, Italian machismo, the in-group language of the man-to-man. Carmy thumbs along his open shirt, moving back to the drinks cart so she can show him the martini. ]

I dunno if grapefruit is even like, the right flavour profile? I figure lemon, olive, it makes sense. Maybe I should have gone like, fingerlime