“Jesus,” I bit out, frustrated. “You’re so fucking stubborn.” “Says the pot to the kettle,” Lizzie countered. “So, what’s it going to be, Joey Lynch? Are we dying tonight, or are we living?” “You’re living,” I begrudgingly conceded, allowing her to pull me back over the railing and onto solid ground. “I’m being emotionally blackmailed.” “Hey, whatever keeps your heart ticking,” she replied. “Sorry, not sorry.”
