“Grovel.” I stop spinning my poker chip and frown. “What?” Rory stares at me from across the breakfast table, like she just discovered I only have one brain cell, and she’s wondering how I survive day-to-day. “She wants you to grovel, Rafe.” Her lip curls into a sneer. “And rightly so. Goose, no wonder she disappeared off the face of the planet, you absolute weirdo.”
Grovel, beg, lick the floor she walks on—thanks Rory!!!
