“How do you know I’m not a real asshole?” “I don’t.” He snorts loudly. “But if you are, New York, I reckon we might just get along.” “You reckon you can keep calling me that and not die, too?” “I do, Miss Delilah.” His eyes flash brighter. Oh my God, no. ...I think we’re having a moment. “You’re so ridiculous!” I shout. I can’t help laughing, shaking my head.
