Maisie
"You sit down!" I snapped at him, which was silly, considering he wasn't even standing. "You're being irrational—"
He was glaring at my mouth. "You left the house without informing us—"
"I wasn't aware I had to inform you of everywhere I went, and Richie brought me to school—"
"I brought you breakfast. I wanted to watch you train. Spend time with you. Instead I walk in and see that bastard kissing what's mine."
The word "mine" sent a stupid flutter through my stomach. I tried to ignore it. And then he added in what I would have called a sulk if a grown man could sulk, "But clearly, you don't need me around. You need a fucking babysitter since we can't leave you alone for five-fucking-minutes—"
I was ticked off again. "I do not need a babysitter—"
" And since when do you wear lipstick anyway?" he grunted, ears and cheeks red. He shoved a black handkerchief at me, the fabric warm and carrying his scent. "Wipe it off. It's fucking distracting."
"Distracting for who?"
