I stare at Finn, still in disbelief that he’d reduced what Knox and I have to s*x.
He holds my gaze like he’s waiting for me to agree with him, like he’s said something rational. Like what just came out of his mouth was anything other than emotionally manipulative, absurd bullshit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me, face taut, eyes tired, a strange sort of desperation clinging to him like fog.
“Have you gone mad?” I ask.
“Me? Why am I the one being accused of madness here when you’re clearly thinking with your v****a?”
My jaw drops.
“If the problem was s*x,” he goes on, tone flat and deadpan, “you could’ve just asked me. I’m your friend. I would’ve helped you out.”
Each word is worse than the last. I can’t even respond fast enough. Fury is rolling i
