Lucky:
No.
Dollancie:
Still, I’m gonna try and guess your real name, and I can’t when I’ve never seen your face.
So, where are you?
Lucky:
Busy.
Dollancie:
Sure…
Lucky:
Well, I am at work.
And I’ve still got one more cupcake to get through.
Dollancie:
So, just send me a photo then.
God, she isn’t giving in.
I’d put money on this being Annabelle’s doing, but I contemplate before giving in.
Tucked beneath the bar and safely out of view, I snap an image, ensuring no scars she’d likely recognize are on show, and I send it from my device to hers. It shows her nothing—a hint of abs through a ripped T-shirt and a face hidden by an LED mask. I look almost identical to at least three other guys in here.
Dollancie:
Oh, your pink eyes are beautiful. So much more unique than my blues. They fit in perfectly with my hair.
But… I want to see your real face.
Lucky:
No.
I don’t like my real face.
Dollancie:
Why not?
Lucky:
I’m not conventionally attractive.
Dollancie:
I just saw like twenty abs. So, I smell bullshit.
Lucky:
