“What is wrong with you?” Naomi demanded, jogging to catch up. She reached for her cup, but I held it just out of reach and kept walking. “If you don’t want to end up hog-tied over the back of Wraith’s bike, then I suggest you get in my truck.” The disheveled flower child muttered some uncomplimentary sounding things about my personality and anatomy. “Look. If you can stop bein’ a pain in my ass for five whole minutes, I’ll take you to the station. You can get your damn car, and then you can get out of my life.” “Has anyone ever told you you have the personality of a pissed-off porcupine?” I
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