His smile seems sad. “Yes, when I was belligerently drunk. Which was your fault, by the way.” “My fault?” I scoff. “How was that my fault?” “You were dancing with my brother; that’s how.” He spins me then, surprising me into tripping over my feet. “You were giving him that look like you do.” “What look?” “I’m not quite sure,” he says quietly. “You never gave it to me.”
nah babe hold up
