“Pointy chin?” Lance pulled Pidge close, puffing a tickling burst of air into her ear. “Who you callin’ ‘Pointy chin?’”
“Careful. You could put an eye out with that pointy chin,” she said between giggles. She prided herself in being the sort of woman who never giggled, but he always reduced her to this.
“So says the person who has to look up to look down.” His fingers were searching for a ticklish spot on her ribs.
“Short jokes?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s the best you can do, Spaghetti Legs? Short jokes?”
“Short people got no reason…” he sang.
“That song isn’t actually about short people but instead referring to—”
“Short people,” he sang. “They got grubby little fingers.” He squeezed her hand. “And dirty little minds.”
She giggled again. Dammit! “You love my dirty mind.”
“I do.”
Then he kissed her neck and she lost the clever retort poised on her tongue.
