My mouth falls open at his playful and bossy tone, but it doesn't mess with his smile. The man is unperturbed, which frustrates me. Rather than remind him I'm maimed, I move on to the next pressing topic.
"What's that?" I point to the table in question.
He c***s an eyebrow in my direction and raises a hand like he's about to check for a temperature, but I bat it away. "A coffee table."
"I realize it's a coffee table, Ryland. Where did it come from?"
"First, call me Ry. My mother's the only person who calls me Ryland. Second, I bought the table this morning."
"You bought a table this morning?" My wrapped foot rests on the floor, the throbbing pressure increasing by the minute. It must be the reason I'm hearing his answers wrong.
He slides the table a few inches closer. "Yeah, I stoppe
