"The question is… why?” Brian asked, hands near his face as if it hurt to contemplate this idea of more clothes. She had on plenty of clothes. A veritable fortress of clothes. “Pft-ahhhh, forget it. If you do that, I’ll kill myself, but forget it.” He sat forward on the couch, collecting himself for five or ten seconds, and then pushed to his feet.

“I’ll get your water. And some ice. But you can’t have any of that, it’s for my… yeah.” He pointed haphazardly at the kitchen and went in search of clean glasses and the pitcher of refrigerated water.

One of these days, he thought. Revenge.