"Jay, listen." Sam put his hands together, forming a pyramid shape, peering over the top of them. "She beat down your apartment door and fainted in your arms. She apologized, cried - it's when they cry, that's the worst - " He was a huge sucker for crying women. "And she even told you to run from her. But she doesn't want you to run from her, Jay!" Sam cautioned. "From the way you described her, it doesn't sound like she'd put on a show just for the hell of it. And who gets to decide the amount of feminine mystique each woman is allotted?" He asked, grinning. "You?" That would go over like a lead balloon. Jay, the All-Knowing Women Translator!
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