I ignore her.“Yep.It’s happening.A club that truly appreciates the literary merit of, uh…” I nod toward the book she’s still clutching.“Highly creative battle techniques.”
“Joel.”
I grin, slow and wicked.“I’m calling it The Dirty Bastards.Know any guys who might wanna join?”
Her head drops back against the couch as she whimpers in absolute suffering.
“Why are you like this?”
“Born this way, baby.”
“Do not quote Gaga unless you can back it up.”She throws a pillow at my face.
I catch it, laughing, because this is the most fun I’ve had in days.
Maybe weeks.
Hell, probably years.
She groans into her hands.“Ihateyou.”
I lean closer, dropping my voice.“You sure about that?”
Her hands drop immediately, her glare back in full force, but I see it.
The slight twitch at the corner of her lips.
The way she almost—almost—smiles.
And I know, deep in myvery soul, that I’mwinning.
Anna stands up suddenly, as if that will fix this.“I—I need to check my email.”
I smirk.“Do you?”
“Yep.Very important work stuff.”
“Like what?”
She flounders for a second.“Uh.Corporate espionage.Hush-hush.Government secrets.”
I grin wider.“Ah, yes.Your thriving spy career.”
She glares at the coffee table like she can manifest an escape route.“You know, I should really start… cooking more.”
I snort.“Youhatecooking.”
“Yeah, but, um, personal growth?”She gestures vaguely.
“Nice try,” I say, stretching my arms behind my head, “we should pick songs for Mina’s party.”
Her face drops completely.I grin like the devil himself.
The whiplash is delicious.
“No.”
I raise an eyebrow.“No?”