“I know you’re not talking to me right now. You made that perfectly clear. About a thousand times," he smirks, referring to the rant I half-shouted at him after the last “attraction”. I narrow my eyes. “But please, accept my offering. I openly admit that it will take more than one cup of sweetness to make up for the trauma I’ve put you through tonight. I’m the worst. You’re the best. I’m a troll. You’re a goddess. I’m dumb. You’re brilliant. I’m salt. You’re sweet, sweet Sugar.”
