His lips twitch and I swear to God, my witchy heart jumps in my chest for making them.
“Well, then you should’ve been there,” he says in an amused voice.
His amusement is making my heart pound faster. “Been where?”
“When my coach signed me up for anger management therapy.”
“Your coach signed you up for anger management therapy?”
I know. IknowI’m repeating most of his stuff. But honestly, I can’t keep up.
Because it’s the most bizarre thing I’ve heard in my entire life.
Arrow and anger management.
Arrow, punching a door. Arrow, kissing a strange girl at the bar.
What thefuckis happening?
“Yeah.” He nods, his amusement still in place. “Your glowing endorsement could’ve saved me.”
“Why did he sign you up for anger management therapy?” I ask, as if this question is the holy grail of all questions.
“Because I punched a door,” he deadpans. “Aren’t you paying attention?”
Before I can say anything to that, he leans toward me.
He not only leans but he sniffs me too.
I draw back a little. “What are you doing?”
Keeping himself hung over me, he rumbles, “Smelling you.”
“Why?”
“To see if you’re too drunk to have this conversation.”
I open and close my mouth for a few seconds. “I’m not drunk. I don’t drink.”
Well, not a lot.
I mean, I have had a few drinks here and there, mostly with people back in my old high school.
“Is that right?”
I raise my chin. “Yes.”
“Surprising. Given the fact that you don’t care about rules.” Then, “What about getting high?”
“W-What about it?”
“Do you like it?” He looks me up and down. “I’m sure a girl like you must enjoy something like that once in a while.”
I swallow at the look in his eyes, at the fact that he’s still looming over me. “No, okay? I don’t do drugs either.”
“So if you don’t do drugs, as you said, and you don’t drink, why the hell did you come here?”
To distract myself from dangerous thoughts. Of you…
