“Of course, it matters. I don’t know what I am.” “You’re Rhett.” I point to him, completely serious. “Moody asshole, decent artist, really good kisser. Rhett.” He looks like he’s partially annoyed and amused by my answer, but he doesn’t snap at me like I thought he would. Instead, he seems to be thinking it over before he huffs, grabbing the handle and pushing the door to the car open, still holding my gaze. “Fine. We can be friends.” I grin. “Friends who kiss?”
Reading this convo is like trying to follow the dialogue in a fast and furious movie
