“Costumes.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Princess Leia. Wonder Woman. Silk Spectre. Mystique. Hit Girl. So many options.”
“I’m not putting on a costume to satiate your prurient fantasies,” I said, lying back on the floor again.
And then I thought about who he was, and who I was, and our kind of romance. “But if you’re willing to play Bruce Wayne, I might reconsider.”
He was. So I did.