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“For...”
I gesture toward the building.
“That.”
“They were disrespectful.”
“They're teenagers.”
“Those things are not mutually exclusive.”
A laugh escapes me.
“No. They certainly aren't.”
He studies me for a moment.
“Why didn't you correct them?”
There it is. My shoulders stiffen.
“I was going to.”
His eyebrow rises.
That damned eyebrow.
“I was.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
His mouth twitches. I sigh.
“I don't like confrontation.”
“No.”
It's not a question. I fold my arms.
“You figured that out from one conversation?”
“I noticed.”
“Do you notice everything?”
His gaze moves over my face.
Then lower.
Not in a crude way.
Somehow that's worse.
Because Grimm Palermo looks at me like he's taking inventory.
Like he's filing away every detail.
