Holly Winslow's return to class after what felt like an eternity drew the attention of her classmates. All eyes were on her stomach, as if they were ultrasound machines trying to determine if she was pregnant.
"…"
Mortimer Quincy, who loved nothing more than stirring the pot, wrapped an arm around her shoulder. A smirk played on his lips as he deliberately misled the onlookers. "Honey, slow down. The path is slippery."
Those standing nearby let out a collective "Ooh," their faces lighting up as if they'd just struck gossip gold.
Holly Winslow: "…"
'A slippery concrete path? My ass.'
'Quincy the Drama King.'
She jabbed him with her elbow and whispered, "Quincy the Puppy, have you no self-control?"
Mortimer Quincy raised an eyebrow. One word escaped his throat. "Control?"
'Is she doubting my... performance?'
Before she could answer, he lowered his voice again. "Honey, are you implying I can't perform?"
"Bingo." Holly Winslow grinned, snapped her fingers, and then bolted.
