“I know what you’re doing,” I announced at the dining table. Ronan lifted his gaze from the iPhone that was probably glued to his hand. If “Tasty!” and “Delicious!” in a deep Candy Crush voice weren’t coming from the stupid device, it constantly pinged with texts and emails. A brow rose. “And what am I doing?” “You’re trying to Stockholm syndrome me.” I thought he wanted to laugh. “I don’t think that’s a verb.” “Like I need grammar advice from someone who uses ‘fuck’ as a noun, verb, and adverb in a single sentence.” “Fuck is versatile.”
