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When last we left them, Charlie had sort of proposed to Clyota through her friend Christina, who was being a pill and deserved the shock.
Now, Charlie, Clyota, and (of course) The Pressman are back at Charlie’s apartment. Clyota is brushing her teeth and trying not to wonder why Charlieeven has a spare toothbrush—it’s none of her business if he has a lot of spontaneous overnight guests, is it?
It’s not like he meant what he said to Christina, right? They’re just friends. Partners. Pals.
But when she leaves the bathroom, Charlie is waiting . . .
(it just occured to me that I have a lot of C-names in this story . . . but at least I get to use this image again!)
“Thought I’d make use of the facilities before starting my watch.”
“Good idea,” I said, through a yawn. “Unless you want to bring a new definition to the term ‘sloppy defense.’”
“Young lady, that is both crude and inappropriate.”
“Speaking of inappropriate,” I said, thumping him on the shoulder, “what’s the big idea telling Christina we’re getting married?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Then you won’t have any trouble keeping it in mind.”
Earful of Cider 