“Okay, Barrons, it's time.""I am not helping you shave your legs." he said instantly. "Oh please. As if I'd let you.”
“I though you said it was easy, listening to your heart. I thought you said I'd be okay. So why am I breaking apart.”
“Besides, my drinking blood's not nearly as weird as that time I caught you shaving your legs.""I was curious!”
“My breathing was shallow and my hands were fists. 'Oh, yes, I'm going to have to kill you Barrons.' I said coolly, Partly because, for the most miniscule sliver of an instant, while looking at those handcuffs, I'd imagined myself climbing back into bed and pretending I wasn't cured yet.”
“You okay?" he asked me. I nodded, unable to say anything that would really cover how I felt. "Then get out of the way." "Huh?" "Your legs. Please”
“Oh, please," I rolled my eyes, "You're a leftie, Barrons.""Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmured.”