“He won’t fire you for being my boyfriend.” “I’m not your boyfriend, Molloy,” he was quick to deny. “I’m just your—” “Yes, you are, ya big eejit,” I snapped, irritated now. “It’s been seven months. You’re my boyfriend, I’m your girlfriend, and we love each other a lot.” “We absolutely do not!” “So much in fact that we love to take our clothes off and put our mouths on each other’s—“ “Jesus Christ.” He blew out a pained breath. “You are hell bent on getting me killed, aren’t ya?”
