“You think I’m a prostitute,” Derek said, voice flat and disbelieving.
“Oh boy,” Isaac muttered, at the same time as an old lady eating by the side murmured, “Those jeans are very tight, my dear.”
Allison stepped out of the kitchen with a curious expression on her face, wiping her hands on her apron around the gun-shaped bulge in her apron pocket. “What’s going on here?”
“Do you think I’m a prostitute too?” Derek asked, because he had only met Allison twice, surely she wouldn’t think the same.
She bit her lower lip. “Oh well. Um.”