“Hell no, Romanova.” Dylan places the gift bag by his feet and holds out his hand to me. I blink at him, a confused laugh escaping. “What are you doing?” “We’re dancing.” I look around wondering if he’s lost his mind. Maybe those brawls are finally catching up with him. “On your porch?” “Yup. If this is your way of calling a truce, I need to believe it.”
