/And decided it was probably a good idea to stop reading the erotic memoirs in my journal./

Scott was still inwardly grinning from Ami calling him "Love" when *that* thought popped into his head. Mortification -- Ami's mortification -- flooded across their link. Scott blushed from head to toe from her reaction and his traitorous imagination wondering what said memoirs entailed. ('Cause it was us. Had to be. She said what she'd learned was "very good.")

Ami's rambling gave Scott the time he needed to wrench his full-body blush under control. Only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, he set the four frying pans he'd found on the stove and waited impatiently for the next opportunity to jump Ami Ami to finish mixing the batter.