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Maybe the reality wasn’t as dramatic as sports media liked to pretend, but archnemesis was only an exaggeration because neither of them had superpowers.
“I hope it works out for the two of you.” Grady’s mouth dropped open. “For who?” David lifted a shoulder, easy nonchalance. “You and whoever you were thinking of when you looked at Starry Night Over the Rhone.”
“I’m the lobster. I’m prickly.”
“I should be the lobster,” Grady repeated quietly when Max’s fingers traced down the side of his face. “You crack me open.”
