“Are you bullying me?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “I didn’t take you for a bully, but I’m feeling a little bullied.” I stick out my lower lip. “Sorry. Am I too much for you to handle?” Something crosses his face, and it’s chilling—thrilling. A drug I don’t need, but I think I might like it a little too much if I take even the tiniest hit. “You have no idea how much I can handle.” He stands, sauntering to the grill. “The question is … are you ready to be handled?”
