“There’s not much to know.” She shrugs. “There’s always something to know.” “We’re strangers.” “Friends.” “We can’t be friends. We don’t know anything about each other.” “At some point, you’re going to have to stop using that as an excuse.” She scoffs. “It’s not an excuse. And who said I wanted to be your friend?” “Everyone wants to be my friend,” I retort with a grin. When her eyes cast to it, she glowers, but then her face becomes blank. “They must feel bad for you.” “So, feel bad for me and be my friend.” “You’re annoying.” “You mean good looking?” She softly groans. “We’re getting
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