Page 371 of Wicked Brutal

“I said that’s what you should do.”

“I heard you.”

“Then why the fuck did you ask?”

Becca stares at him. Danny stares back. I don't intervene. I've known him long enough to recognize a man actively choosing his own death.

Becca points down at her shoes. “Are you suggesting I bring flats to prom?”

“I’m suggesting you bring flats everywhere.”

Her mouth falls open. “Why?”

“Because you wear those fucking torture devices and then complain your feet hurt.”

“They’re heels.”

“They’re stupid.”

“They’re Louboutins.”

Danny shrugs. “Cool. They’re expensive stupid.”

Cat makes a strangled noise beside me.

Becca's eyes narrow. “You did not just call my Louboutins stupid.”

“They hurt your feet.”

“That is not the point.”

Danny finally puts his phone down. “Pretty sure being able to walk is the main fucking requirement for shoes.”

“You are so painfully uncultured.”

“And yet I'm the one who ends up carrying your ass upstairs every time you decide functioning ankles aren't fashionable enough.”

“I have never asked you to carry me upstairs.”

“You don't have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don't.” He leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You get to the stairs, take your shoes off, and look at me.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely fucking do.”

“What look?”

Danny widens his eyes and pitches his voice up. “‘Danny, my feet hurt.’”

Becca's jaw drops. “I do not sound like that.”

“‘Danny, the stairs are so far away.’”

“Fuck you.”