She can't resist, really, reminding him of that unfortunate slip of the tongue--repeatedly. It's fun for her. You can joke about drinking male tears all you want, but sometimes it's fun to make them squirm every now and then. Just a little taste of revenge for all the scumbags who felt it necessary to describe just what they'd do to a seventeen-year-old her, newly hot with tits and legs and an ass out to there. It's fun, but it's also necessary.

Not that her mind is on any of that. No, the minute the door shuts, her focus is all on Nick--coming toward her like he doesn't have a care in the world. Leaning in so artfully. Porrim leans gracefully against the door, sighing out an "Oh, honey," before their lips meet. She doesn't hold back--none of that coy, delicate shit. It's like the six weeks between the last time and now never happened. She's like a sports car--zero to sixty in seconds flat. And he'd better put on his goddamn seatbelt.