It’s probably because that smile can’t be good for me. But I’m a desperate man. If she tells me no, I’m going to have to serve Lay’s chips with sour cream dip because I have no other option. Or fucking hot wings from the dirty bar down the street. I refuse to resort to either of those options. Which means all my eggs are in one basket—Pippa’s basket. The woman who hates me—for good reason. The woman who irritates the hell out of me, but somehow, the one person I need right now. The only one who can get me out of my current dilemma. It’s ironic. She’s the last person I want to have to be around
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