“I’ll call you later, okay?” I spit. “You’ll call?” Dutch’s lips curl up a fraction of an inch. Internally, I freeze. That’s it. The crack that I’ve been waiting for. He softens, his tense shoulders, his full, dangerous lips, his eyes. I push on the crack just far enough to make him break. “I’ll call you and tell you everything,” I promise. “I won’t leave anything out.” There. He finally loses the fight and gives in.
