“I already asked the guys for help.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. I made myself stop looking at it. “They said they’d be about five minutes,” I finished, glancing toward the door one more time. Rip’s nose wrinkled for a moment before he shoved his rag into one of the pockets of his coveralls and said carefully, “You didn’t ask me.” I blinked. “Ask you?” For permission? “For help,” he clarified, his voice tight.
Sir- why is this kinda funny to me
