Miles saunters over with that wannabe gangster strut. He’s just a wannabe dweeb, but he walks like he owns the place. My lip curls at the sight of him.
“Little monster, you’re late,” he drawls lazily.
“So you actually came,” I say. “You forgot, huh?” I mimic scissors with my fingers, reminding him of the night I shaved his head while he crashed at our place.
His face flushes with heat, and he shoots me a glare. “Watch it, little witch,” he snaps. “I’m warning you, try to get rough with me and I’ll get rougher. You won’t like it.”
Stupid. “Who wants to get rough with you?” I huff, then spot Sophie, her whole face flushed. She won’t meet my eyes, let alone look at Miles.
I gape at her. No way, is she blushing because of him? This dweeb? I cross to him and enjoy the tension tightening M
