Despite my blatant attempt to ignore him, Morrison slithered my way, coming to hover close enough that I was engulfed in a cloud of his too-strong, obnoxious cologne. His presence was irritating on every level. He nodded at the skates in my hand. “Are those Bailey’s?” The fuck? “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a creep?” I asked. Morrison squinted his watery blue eyes, glaring at me. Or attempting to, anyway. He didn’t have enough spine to lend the weak glare any credibility. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a dick?” he countered. I grinned. “All the time, man.”
