“I hate that fucking guy,” Oscar grumbled, turning back to the table to help her prepare the coffees. Nobody else dared to approach the drinks station. “You hate everyone,” Isobel said, too tired to care that Oscar was being a big, snarling bully. “I like you.” The words were a scrape of gravel, utterly without warmth. They still made her stomach burn, her skin tingling with pleasure.
