Then, a moment later and sweetly hesitant: “You like me?” And she calls me an idiot. My sigh is a huge gust of air. “Aye. I like you. But then again, I’m a glutton for punishment, so there’s that.” “That’s such a weird phrase. ‘Glutton for punishment.’ What does that even mean?” “It means you love what hurts you.” A delicate shiver runs through her body. Burrowing closer to me, she whispers, “Don’t love what hurts you, Quinn. Whatever hurts you doesn’t deserve you. You’re made for so much better than that.”
