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“Fair fuckin’ point.” I rubbed the abused skin. “No wonder you suck at shit-talk. You just go straight to violence.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Big baby.”
Grabbing the syrup, I poured some on my lukewarm waffle before holding it out to her. When she shook her head, I asked, “Not a syrup fan?”
“I just don’t want to make you jealous.”
My brows lowered. “What?”
Ophelia worked—and failed—to hide a smile as her gaze darted between me and the syrup bottle. “I went looking for you when I woke up and walked in on you two having a, uh, moment together.”
Fuckin’ hell.
