“You’re not going to stay for the thing?” He took a bite of manicotti. “There’s nothing you could do, say, nothing you could possibly offer – including deviant sexual favors – that would induce me to be within a hundred yards of that baby shower.” “Crap.” She forked up a nice chunk of meatball. “Not even if I combined chocolate sauce with the outfit?” “Not even.” “There could be whipped cream. And choreography.” “An.”
