“Jesus fucking Christ, Ben, if you let me finish a single fucking sentence!” I shout, and then he does it. He smiles. “There she is.” “Who is?“ “Fiesty Lola. My Lola.” “What?” “You give the rest of the world sweet and kind and caring. You give them patience and understanding. But me? I get the real you. The one that wants to rip my throat out and put me in my place.” “See! That’s what I’m trying to say! That makes no sense! I am not yours. You don’t even like me!” “Oh, I like you all right, sweet girl.”
