I think I'll get a lover and fly him out to Spain

I am spelunking for respectable books, you're steering me to the decidedly non-respectable books section.

"Follow your heart, kiddo." Your face is in its "Seriously, I'm serious" mode, which is enough to warn me that you're up to something. I look up at you, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

You hold up a florid book. On the cover, there's a woman in a corset. That's it. In raging red letters, super-imposed on a shiny, Turtle-waxed butt cheek, are the words First Impressions LUST. (Emphasis not mine.)

I manage to catch a waterfall of snot before it embarasses us both. My sniffle reverberates inside the musty bookstore. I hold my polite-company books closer to myself.

Primly, I say, "I don't read those kinds of books."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Trashy books with Fabio covers, right?"

"Not that trashy. And sweetie, that's not Fabio."

"I've seen you before."

My eyes narrow further and I shift my respectable books from one arm to another. "No, you haven't. I don't read those kinds of books."

"I know where you keep them." You shrug, check your watch, take my spelunked books, and drag me to the cashier, all at the same time. All with that maddening, I Know You Find Me Hot smile, patent pending.

"You're not buying that," I tell you through gritted teeth.

...

Five minutes later, Alice Hoffman and Lillian Braun Jackson in my bag and "First Impressions LUST" by Mistress Something Something in your back pocket, we waddle around.

"I can't believe you did that!" Insert sniffle here.

"Don't worry -- I'll let you highlight the juicy parts."

I stand on tiptoe to give you a respectable swat to your head. You dodge it with irritating ease.

After a few moments of aimless walking, you turn to me, IKYFMH smile in place. "Wanna watch Spider-Man?"

"James Franco, ayuh."

"In spandex."

"Of course," I sniff.

As we wait in line for tickets, I remember Senseless Principle #342, "Don't hit on me while I spelunk for books." I tell you this, as we walk blindly into the movie theatre, Harry Potter's nasal screams from the trailer ringing in our ears.

I thank the gods the IKYFMH smile isn't glow-in-the-dark. "I wasn't hitting on you. That would be redundant."

Damn, but my hand in yours feels good.

"Got you," you tell me, over your shoulder. I don't have to look up at you to know you're smiling a decidedly less smarmy smile. The one I prefer.

"Got you."

And that's how I learn that my smile glows in the dark.