When Prandi and Jameson finally came up for air, Karl was back to his usual unconscious state.

“I swear, that guy is weird,” Jameson said with a lazy smile as he licked his lips. Prandi’s mouth tasted like strawberries and champagne.

Prandi looked at Karl so as to not meet eyes with Jameson. For some reason, she suddenly felt shy. She worried he could hear her heartbeat, which sounded unnaturally loud in her own ears.

“Yeah, he must be narcoleptic or something.”

“Narco-who?“

Prandi just smiled, braving a quick glance up at Jameson. His blue eyes were ineffably tender. “A narcoleptic is someone who falls asleep uncontrollably.”

Old Bess sidled back up to them to refill their cups with more champagne. “Yep, that sounds like our Karl. The poor baby. But he really does have the worst taste in music.”

Prandi stood up suddenly, her eyes flashing. “Say, Jameson, you got any quarters? I suddenly feel like dancing.”

“Sure.” Jameson rifled through his pockets, hoping he wouldn’t have to do the worm again.