Her glare sharpens tomurderous levels.
“You aresofull of yourself,” she hisses.
“I mean, I’m not the one who stormed out mid-song.”
“Oh my god.”She presses her fingers to her temples like she’s literally trying to keep her head from exploding.“I left because I was bored, Price.That’s it.Not everything is somedeep, emotional moment just because you played a few sad chords.”
“A few sad chords?”I place a hand on my chest, mock-offended.“Wow.That almost hurt, Ace.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Not a chance,” I fire back, taking another step into her space.
She groans, muttering something under her breath that sounds a lot likeI hate youbut with significantly more aggression.
Then she pivots sharply, ready to stalk off, but I mirror her step, shifting just enough that she stops short.
“Move,” she demands.
“Admit it,” I counter, grinning.“You liked the song.”
“Ihatethe song.”
“You don’t even remember it.”
“I rememberenough.”
“Oh yeah?”I tip my head.“Then tell me.What was it about?”
She opens her mouth.Then shuts it.Her jaw tightens.
I watch as she fights with herself, scrambling for something to say, somethingvagueenough to avoid proving me right.
It’s fascinating.
“It was… moody.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A little whiny.”
“Rude.”
“And,” she adds, eyes flashing as she finds her footing again, “anobviousattempt to get people to feel sorry for you.”
I let out a low laugh, shaking my head.“God, you’re the worst liar.”
“And you’re insufferable,” she snaps, brushing past me with more force than necessary.
This time, I let her go.
Because as much as shepretendsto be unaffected, her entire reaction just proved my point.
Shefelt something.
And whether she likes it or not?
I’m not letting that go.