I want you so much that I would do almost anything to have you.
Please let me not be willing to do this.
“We used to be friends,” she says. “Even if there was nothing else.”
“We’re still friends,” I say automatically, because I really want it to be true.
“Well, good, then.” She sits down next to me on the bench. “I don’t want you to be mad that I’m here. I’m not going to jump you or anything.”
I snort. “My virtue is safe, eh? Well, thank goodness for that.”
She rolls her eyes.
“No—I understand why you came. It must be good to see him dead.” I think of Zacharov’s words about sleeping better at night, even if I steadfastly refuse to apply them to myself. “You must feel safer.”
She gapes at me like she can’t believe I just said those words. Then she laughs. “It’s hard to be a girl aga
