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Chloe: I think I'd know, Dick Face.
Dean: You remembered. Means the world to me.
Chloe: I figured.
Dean: You finally get why I consider that a compliment?
Chloe: I've seen better.
My chest warms.
Her hate fuels me. It feels good.
There must be something wrong with me, but I don't care.
I do a lot of shit to challenge myself—learn new styles, lift heavier weights, run farther distances—but none of it pushes me the way she does.
None of it makes me feel this alive.
Dean: Do tell.
Chloe: A lady doesn't kiss and tell.
Dean: What's that have to do with you?
Chloe: I don't want to bruise your ego.
Dean: It doesn't bruise that easily.
Chloe: I'm sure.
Dean: You just called your boss a dick face.
Chloe: You take it as a compliment.
Dean: True.
Chloe: Because you're operating under some delusion that it means your dick is beautiful.
Dean: If you're arguing otherwise…
Chloe: We're going in circles.
Dean: Are we supposed to be talking about something besides my dick?
Chloe: Yes.
Dean: Then how am I supposed to tell you about my Prince Albert.
Chloe: You do not have a pierced cock.
Dean: If that's some way of baiting me to send a pic, you should know it's working.
Chloe: Not interested.
Dean: Most of my ten p.m. texts head in this direction.
Chloe: Do you really think there's a snowball's chance in hell that I'm booty calling you?
