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Summary
Jack was leaning in the doorjamb in a forest green and burgundy skirt suit with gold trim, complete with a cap on his head set at a jaunty angle. The top was a little too small, so his stupid jacked arms were busting out of the short sleeves. The skirt rode up over his knees to reveal freckled thighs and a dusting of hair rendered golden by Robby’s porch light. His flesh and blood ankle was crossed over his metal one, and he was slanting a shit-eating smirk at Robby.
“What the fuuuuck,” Robby’s mouth let out, independent of his brain.
“Can I interest you in flying Abbot Air?”