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“Did you just call me dramatic? I was just told to fight to the fucking death”—she paused for dramatic effect; the irony was not lost on me—“with a goddamn, motherfucking werewolf. Who, I might add, is batshit crazy. But I must be the one being dramatic?”
Even half-dead as she was, she managed to sound sarcastic. Such an admirable talent.
“I can’t decide,” he finally ground out, “if you’re the most twisted bitch I’ve ever met or just the hardest to please.”
“You flicked me!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop right beside me at the island counter. “Ah yeah,” I agreed, continuing with my flour measurements. “Like fifteen minutes ago. Don’t tell me that was your off switch and it took you this long to reboot?”
