Somewhere in the Middle (Waiting for Directions)
Ginny bounced a tennis ball off a wall. She played sevens like that, where the ball was her hand and the wall was his face and the actions were what she’d do to that smug, perpetually shadowed face. Mike Fucking Lawson. Back to San Diego.
"Actually,” Ginny drew out the word, “I just came back. From a date.”
“A date?” Pause. “What is that?”