“I think about her all the time,” he says with an insincere, wistful smile. “She’s a firestorm that I won’t ever smother. I’m the one who inflames her, who riles her to a new, confounding degree. She’s my perfect match.” My face falls. And I unwillingly let everyone see my shock. I can’t hold it in this time. Because those last lines are mine. I said them in an interview. And he stole them from me.
WHAT
