“What am I busy doing at lunch?” I asked. “Did you want to go pick out some more paint? Because I thought you were still working on the GTO and the SS.” “No,” he answered, not moving an inch, but instead, just watching me. “I brought you fucking lunch.” He brought me—did he just say lunch? “There’s a thing in the fridge with your name on it,” Rip kept going, watching me steadily.
Sir just get down on one knee atp
