And yet… every time they were in the same room, it was like something primal ignited between them. She drew out the worst parts of him, the stubbornness, the sarcasm, the need to provoke and push. And whenever that happened, he would hardly be able to remember his plans. It was instinct at this point.
It was her and he didn't know what to do with that.
She pushed him just as hard, if not harder than he pushed her, and somehow, they always ended up butting heads. It was maddening and infuriating and yet, beneath all that friction lay something else entirely. She made his blood run hot with more than just annoyance. It was a fever he couldn't shake, headier, more intoxicating than anything he had ever felt. It made his pulse race and his thoughts spiral. He hated it as much as he loved it.
