“Go on then.” A daring glint sparkled behind his pale eyes. I stared at him, aghast. “Go on, what?” “Spit in my coffee. You know I’m very particular about my brew.” “I was kidding. It was a joke.” “Well, I’m not. It tastes off. Spit in it.” “You’re depraved.” “You’re delectable.” “What?” “Thought we were listing each other’s obvious traits?” He cocked a brow.
