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8 Sep 2015
“Oh my god,” says Natasha. “Please don’t hit on me, please.” She falls into a chair despairingly and puts her head in her hands. Such a bad idea, Jesus Christ, if they do hit on her, if they both hit on her, if the words you don’t have to choose cross anybody’s lips –
Such a bad idea.
She hears Steve put the newspaper on the table; the kettle boils; then there’s silence. Finally James says solemnly, “Nobody’s going to hit on you in this house. By my Aunt Ida’s grave I swear it.”
“Everybody hated your Aunt Ida,” says Steve.
In which Natasha Romanov gets dosed with sex pollen, pines self-indulgently for her best friends, dreams a lot, and has to deal with being dated.