As she reaches for the door handle, I place a hand over hers, stopping her. “Can I just say one more thing?” “What is it?” she asks, impatient. “I know we don’t always get along, but you should know I never want to push you any further than you’re willing to go.” “Why do you even care about what I think?” She arches a brow, voice laced with skepticism. “I just do.” Her expression softens as she sighs. “Beck, you don’t even like me.”
