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He arched an eyebrow curiously. Cool. I’d always wished I could do that.
I scowled as I walked away. Great. Homework from the priest.
“But, as you have demonstrated, names do not make a person. Nor do they have any bearing on how that person turns out.”
There was so much testosterone in the air, I felt like I needed a gas mask.
I couldn’t be Mason’s girlfriend because when I imagined someone holding me and whispering dirty things in my ear, he had a Russian accent.
This was the kind of dress that changed the world. The kind of dress that started religions.
Then the reality of the situation hit me. “I was taken down by a bench,” I groaned.
I was going to ruin everything, right here and right now. I’m really not good with impulse control.
The greatest and most powerful revolutions often start very quietly, hidden in the shadows.”
And then, suddenly, he was there, charging down the hallway like Death in a cowboy duster.
“No. If I let myself love you, I won’t throw myself in front of her. I’ll throw myself in front of you.”
I held out my arm to it, half hoping it’d come land on me in some sort of dramatic, movie-worthy gesture. All it did was look at me like I was an idiot, spread its wings, and fly off.
From far away, I heard the sound of cawing, almost like laughter.
