Seven hurricanes. [ a sigh pushes out between her lips and her shoulders deflate like a popped balloon as she struggles to quickly reconcile that the guy she screw can occasionally read minds. ok. ] It's okay. You're not a slut, I'm not a slut, your sandy moorings are just hiding cement. [ trying for a small smile, she actually succeeds, however fleeting it is. ] I don't regret it. It was nice, you're nice.