Probably, Keefe said, disgust laced through every syllable. I keep trying to tell you—I'm not the guy you want me to be.
I don't want you to be anyone except you.
———
Besides, seeing you in that robe . . .
Yeah, I can feel how much you hate it.
"Hate" isn't a strong enough word. I want to rip it to shreds.
Well, don't. I'm not wearing anything underneath.
He snort-laughed when she scrambled back a step.
I'm kidding—though your gross-out is noted.
———
Aw, come on, Foster. I'm the cute guy who chooses to save the kids, remember? How can you resist me?
Who said anything about cute?
It totally goes without saying. Don't even try to deny it.
She couldn't.
And he knew it.
And she hated it.
If I tell you, I want something in return, she decided.
Isn't my eternal devotion enough?
Not even close.
That hurts, Foster.
———
There you go, changing the subject again.
Caught that, huh? You're a quick one, Miss F. And I'm pretty sure I've given you way more than five minutes, so—
Nope. You're not getting out of this. We made a deal, and I'm holding you to it.
See, and I'd kinda like to find out how you'll punish me if I don't.
She was tempted to snap back with a long list of incredibly creative forms of Keefe torture. But then she'd be giving him the distraction he wanted.