“You are so damn infuriating.” I suppress a smile. She’s not mad at me. She’s mad at herself for liking me. And maybe she’s mad at me for getting past her fences. But I don’t care if she’s mad. Why she’s mad. Who she’s mad at. I truly don’t. Not when she’s angling her body and her head exactly right to brush her lips against mine. “So fucking infuriating,” she repeats. I love you too, Addie Bloom.
