Thanks,” I muttered and added under my breath, “Douchebag.”

He laughed, deep and throaty. “Now that’s not very ladylike, Kittycat.”

I whipped around. “Don’t ever call me that,” I snapped.

“It’s better than calling someone a douchebag, isn’t it?” He pushed out the door. “This has been a stimulating visit. I’ll cherish it for a long time to come.”

Okay. That was it. “You know, you’re right. How wrong of me to call you a douchebag. Because a douchebag is too nice of a word for you,” I said, smiling sweetly. “You’re a dickhead.”

“A dickhead?” he repeated. “How charming.”

I flipped him off.

Jennifer L. Armentrout