Breath caught, spasms aching down her thighs, pulling at her stomach, straining her neck to see those eyes, Lilah's waiting. For the slot-machine spin, the eerie light, wondering what does she know about me? How I hate it when somebody sleeps on my hair? How far behind my head my ankles go, thank you God and eleventh-grade gymnastics? How many licks to the center of a Tootsie-Roll Pop?
Because it's all in there, even the stuff she's forgotten, the stuff she's not sure she ever knew, all of her, all, and bing go the eyes, three cherries, and she comes.