I steel my jaw before asking, “What’s your name? So I can be sure to tell Summer that I’d rather choke and die than ever share the ice with you again.” Without turning, he calls over his shoulder, “Saint. Devereaux. She’ll know exactly who I am.” “Oh? Nice to meet you, Satan. I’m Lennon. Rousseau. Hopefully, you’ll forget it before you make it out of the building.” Even though he’s got his back turned, I lift my middle finger to send him off.
