“Today is THAT day, isn’t it.” There was an unmistakably surly undertone to that dark chocolate voice.
“Yes, Sir Guy. But surely you aren’t superstitious?”
One saturnine ebony brow rose. “Superstitious?” He gave a manly sniff of that magnificent aquiline proboscis. “Hardly.”
Placing his hand over his mouth, he feigned smothering a great yawn. “Simply worn out from hearing about it all.”
One blonde brow (needing just a bit of plucking) rose. “Worn out from hearing about Friday the 13th?”
He shot her a sidelong glance of brooding intensity. “NOOOOO . . . ” Stabbing one of his elegant fingers at the Weta Chronicles book that had just arrived the day before, Sir Guy hissed through clenched teeth. “About the–Hirsute Vertically Challenged One, of course! It’s the day he finally arrives in theatres here, is it not??”
“Ahhhh . . .” LW nodded. All was now crystal clear. “Yes, it is.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “Just in time for GuyDay Friday.” She pointed a (short chubby) finger in his direction.
“Well–there’s only one thing to do about that.”
Her smile broadened to a conspiratorial grin. “Give the wenches LOTS of the Hot Velveteen Henchman, of course.”
Dazzling white teeth flashed. “Ohhhh . . . yes.”
Happy Guyday Friday the 13th! May the hotness be with you!
Just remember, Shorty . . .