Jameson tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. “He must be worried,” she’d said. She’d call him. The green-eyed monster inside Jameson reared its ugly head, stifling all common sense.

After she ended the call, Prandi flipped her cell phone shut and stretched her arms over her head. “Ugh, I’m so tired. Maybe I should just call him later.” She snuggled back against Jameson’s arm, not noticing his silence. She continued speaking in a sleepy mumble, “Oh, but Nikhil’s probably worried. Maybe I should call him.”

It was hearing his name that finally unleashed the monster.

“Go ahead and call him then, if you’re so eager to hear how he’s doing. I bet he’s just dying to hear from you. And didn’t you say he was an old geezer? He’s probably some cradle-robber eager to get in your pants.”

The torrent of words poured out of Jameson’s mouth quicker than he could process them in his mind. By the time he got to the word “pants,” he realized he really, really shouldn’t have said that. But it was too late.