“Dance with me,” I demand. He knows what I’m asking for.
“Right now.” I’m so out of my mind that I’m asking him myself.
He gives a tired, amused smirk: “No, don’t you dare!”
“Don’t even think about leaving me alone with these feelings!”
“I don’t dance with little foolish girls,” says Roman, looking me straight in the eyes.
“And with smart ones?” my voice breaks.
“And a smart one never asks for it herself.”
That’s all.
Foolish, little fool—I’m just that to him.