“You're blushing. Pray tell: what thought’s just skittered through that pretty little head of yours?” “Pretty little head … that's kinda sexist, don't you think?” I murmur, flushing even harder, and Church laughs again. It's a low, soft sound, almost dangerous. I can't believe I ever thought he was a sociopath (or psychopath, whatever, I can't remember the difference). He's just bottled up, full of emotion he refuses to submit to. Me, I'm a slave to my emotions.
