“Oh how I do love you,” Daisy purred, sliding her fingers through his short hair before she kissed him. I had never seen her kiss anyone like that before. It was languid, entirely for her, and as pretty as it was, as much as I liked Gatsby’s shock at her aggression, I liked my own shock a little less. I was meant to be Daisy’s best friend, and I didn’t know this version of her. This version of her felt like a gun primed to fire.
