“You don’t like brussels sprouts?” “No. The last two times you put them on my plate, I’ve hidden them under a scoop of mashed potatoes to make you think I ate them.” “Oh my god.” I sit up and look down at him. He’s grinning at me, a lazy, unhurried beam that hits behind my ribs. “You sneaky little asshole. Why didn’t you tell me?”
OH HES SO REAL OFR THAT
