I glare at him. "Get out."
He doesn't.
Instead, he steps closer, crouching in front of me without asking. Too close....Way too close.
"Give me the shoe," he says
"No."
He looks up at me, eyebrow lifting slightly. "Little spitfire."
"I don't need your help, and I told you to stop calling me by that name."
"You physically cannot reach your foot." He said ignoring the other thing I said.
"You sound like you're enjoying this."
He huffs a quiet laugh, then holds out his hand. "I'm not enjoying this either just hand it over."
I hesitate. Every instinct in me screams not to let him do this. Not to give him this moment, this proximity.
But my ankle is already cramping.
I shove the heel into his hand. "One shoe. That's it."
"So Generous."
He slides it onto my foot with infuriating ease, fingers steady, efficient. He doesn't linger. Doesn't make it weird just tightnes the strap and checks the clasp.
"There," he says.
I hate how gentle he is about it.
