The Brunette Man’s Tight Jeans Were Sweaty
seemed to me, judging from his fingers,- like sunny springtime afternoons come to life
- on live television for five hours
- there is liquor aboard
- this creepy incognito turtle
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The brunette man’s tight jeans were sweaty, his torso bare. It seemed to me, judging from his fingers, all wrinkled and pruny — and of course those sweaty jeans — that it must have been a veritable sauna inside that panda suit. Fleur and Isolde didn’t seem to notice his dishevelment. Or perhaps they found it attractive. They looked at him like he was a vernal deity, like sunny springtime afternoons come to life. I knew he was used to that reaction. I saw him talk about it on live television for five hours on at least two occasions, and in person innumerable times. He was my brother Jim, and women really liked Jim.
Fleur smiled coquettishly at him and said, “Welcome to my zeppelin. There is liquor aboard.”
“What are you doing here, Jim?” I asked. “The last time I saw you was in Dr Belladonna’s subterranean rocket surgery.”
“What was I supposed to do? Leave my niece and nephew unguarded when I saw the viscount putting on this creepy incognito turtle costume?”
“It was an armadillo,” Isolde said, batting her eyelashes.
“How did you get on my wife’s aircraft carrier?” I demanded.
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