He looked at me, clearly taken aback, like I had just slapped him with a wet fish. His brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, but not a single word left his mouth.
“What?” I demanded, frowning. The way he was staring was starting to make me a little self-conscious, like I had a stain on my face or something.
“Sabastine?” he finally managed, his voice laced with disbelief.
Oh, crap. I had called him that, hadn’t I? My shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug as I tried to play it off. “Yeah. So? That’s your name, isn’t it?”
He squinted at me, clearly trying to figure me out like I was some kind of unsolvable puzzle. What was it with men and their obsession with being addressed a certain way? Did their fragile egos hinge on a single word?
“Jeez, it’s just a name,” I muttered, rol
