“Why do you hate me?” I asked again, sticking to my guns. “You’re…” I waved a hand at him, encompassing all of his muscled, flannel-covered glory. “You’re always glaring at me. Like I did something to you. And I don’t understand. I’m just…” I shook my head. “I’m just wondering what I’ve ever done to you to make you look at me like I’m…” “Like you’re what?” he asked. “Like I’m a piece of shit.”
