“Nah,” I say easily. “I’m sure I would’ve done something even more embarrassing had I been there, like shove you under a table or something. Maybe threw the syrup bottle at Butter Finger’s head.” He doesn’t say anything to that. A heavy moment passes. “Or maybe I would’ve shoved you,” he finally says. “Maybe.” A beat. “But I’m quicker.” He groans. “Stronger.” “Fuck. Off.”
My emotions are going from 💔 to 🤣 so quick how is this even possible
