{ The Wrong Cousin }
A requested one-shot where the reader tells Bodhi she might have chosen the wrong cousin
Xaden x Reader (First Person POV/No names mentioned/Feminine Reader)
Explicit content (18+ ONLY), possessive/claiming Xaden, jealousy, angst, family conflict, etc
You and Xaden are childhood friends who’ve been unknowingly in love with each other for ten years. Xaden just broke the strongest alliance in Tyrrendor to be with you. But when Violet Sorrengail bonds Tairn, everything changes. Suddenly you’re watching the man you love slip away, and Bodhi becomes your only comfort.
ʚ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ
My body shakes. Xaden’s forehead drops against my shoulder, his breath coming harsh and uneven, and I feel him everywhere, still inside me, around me, the weight of him pinning me to the mattress like he can’t let go. My fingers dig into his back where sweat slicks his skin. I left marks.
Yesterday he walked into the Cordella house engaged to another woman.
Now I taste blood where I bit his shoulder and he murmurs my name like a prayer against my throat, over and over, like he’s convincing himself I’m real.
Xaden lifts his head. Sweat drops from his hair onto my collarbone, and he braces himself on one forearm to cup my face. His thumb traces my cheekbone while his eyes search mine, pupils wide. My mind goes blank.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper.
His chest heaves against mine as he shifts his weight, still inside me, and the movement makes us both gasp. He leans down, pressing his forehead against my neck. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans against my throat. “I just burned Tyrrendor’s strongest alliance for this.” He lifts his head and looks directly into my eyes.
“You shouldn’t—” I stumble over the words. “You didn’t have to—”
He kisses me, and his hand slides from my cheek to wrap around my neck. “Ten years was enough.”
I search his face. “You broke your engagement for this.”
“Not for this.” His hand moves back to cup my face. “Though this is fucking incredible.”
“Then why?”
“Because I can’t breathe without you.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Ten years of watching you, wanting you. Dreaming about having you exactly like this.”
His cock twitches inside me, and I gasp.
“Ten years,” I whisper.
“And now you’re mine.” His hand fists gently in my hair. “Finally fucking mine.”
I rock my hips against his. He hardens inside me, and his breath catches. “Ten years,” I whisper, watching his face. “You really waited ten years for this.”
His hands grip my hips hard, and he thrusts up into me. I cry out, my head falling back. “Every fucking day,” he growls. “Every day watching you, knowing I couldn’t touch you.” His fingers dig into my skin. “And now I can’t stop.”
“Good,” I gasp, grinding against his rhythm. “Don’t stop.” My nails scrape down his chest, and he hisses. “Fuck me until I forget my own name.”
He drives into me harder, filling my pussy completely. “Say my name,” he growls against my ear. “I want to be the only name you remember.” His pace turns desperate, relentless. “Fuck, I love you.” His voice breaks. “I’ve loved you for so goddamn long it was killing me.”
“Xaden.” His name breaks from my throat. My hands dig into his shoulders, holding him against me. “I love you. I love you.” I can barely breathe. “Years thinking you’d never feel the same, months thinking you’d marry her…” I can’t finish. His cock slows inside me, and every thrust becomes worship.
“No.” His hand cups my face. “This isn’t about her. This is about you and me. About ten years of wanting something I thought I’d never have.” His movement slows, turns reverent. “About choosing you over everything else I was supposed to want.”
I trace the rebellion relic that winds from his wrist to his neck, black ink spiraling around corded muscle. “We match,” I whisper.
“We match,” he echoes, and when he moves inside me now, it feels like a vow.
This isn’t fucking anymore. This is something deeper, something that reaches past skin and bone into the places where souls live. Every breath we share writes our names on each other’s skin. When he looks at me, I see ten years of longing finally given permission to exist.
“I would burn all of Navarre for this,” he says against my throat. “For you.”
The pleasure builds like inevitability, like sunrise, until we’re both trembling not just from what our bodies feel but from what our hearts finally understand. When I break apart beneath him, it’s with the knowledge that I’ll never be whole without him again. He follows, and we hold each other through the aftermath like survivors of some beautiful destruction.
We make love until dawn, until we’re exhausted and raw and completely claimed. In the morning light, I understand that yesterday I was one person, and today I am half of something larger.
Xaden’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back. The desperate edge is gone. “I love you,” he says into my hair. No adrenaline. No heat of the moment. Just him, awake and certain in daylight.
This is when I know he means it.
We stay like that until voices grow louder in the corridors and someone slams a door down the hall. Xaden’s hand stills on my back. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.” His fingers trace up my spine and brush hair away from my face. “But I have Wingleader shit to handle.” He leans down and kisses my neck.
“I know.” I stay where I am. “Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
He sits up and reaches for his shirt. I watch him dress, already planning when I can have him back. He pauses at the door.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
After he leaves, I get dressed and head to the dining hall. Bodhi sits at our usual table near the windows, working through a plate of eggs and bacon. When he looks up, his fork stops halfway to his mouth.
“Look at you,” he says, setting his fork down completely. His brown eyes scan my neck, then back to my face. “You’re flushed. And you’ve got…” He gestures vaguely at my throat. “Finally had some fun, huh?”
I slide into the seat across from him, pulling my collar higher. “Bodhi.”
“What? I’m just saying.” He leans back and his jaw tightens. “So who’s the lucky guy?” Then he shakes his head, dark curls shifting. “Actually, don’t tell me.”
“Bodhi, I—”
Xaden steps up behind me, kisses my forehead, and claims my shoulder. “Morning,” he says to both of us, but his eyes stay on me.
Bodhi’s face goes blank. Then a muscle jumps in his jaw as understanding hits.
Bodhi picks up his fork and takes another bite of eggs. “Congratulations,” he says. “About time.”
Xaden’s thumb brushes my collarbone where it shows above my shirt. “Thanks.”
“How long?” Bodhi asks, cutting his bacon with precise movements.
“Not long,” I say.
“Only a decade,” Xaden adds.
Bodhi nods and reaches for his coffee. “Good for you.”
“We have a squad meeting,” Xaden says, his hand sliding down my arm. “Let’s go.”
I nod and grab my bag. “See you later, Bodhi.”
“Yeah.” Bodhi lifts his coffee cup. “See you.”
We leave together, Xaden’s hand finding the small of my back as we walk. Bodhi remains at the table by the windows. When I look back, he’s staring into his coffee.
Over the month that followed, Xaden gave me names. Real names. Families crammed into Tyrrendor cellars, children whose parents died on scaffolds we both watched burn. I memorized safe routes through mountains we’d climbed as children, before the rebellion tore our world apart.
In his room after training, we’d spread maps across his narrow bed. His thumb traced supply lines while I calculated how many people we could move before winter. When the numbers failed, when too many would die waiting, I’d press my forehead against his chest and he’d pull me under him. We’d fuck with those names burning between us, with the knowledge that our bodies were all we owned.
He’d name noble houses while his fingers found the mole on my chest. I’d recite contacts while he pressed his mouth to my throat. The rebellion lived in how he’d thread our fingers together when I whispered intelligence that could damn us both.
Then July arrived, and with it, the new first years.
I watch Violet Sorrengail stumble across the parapet onto solid stone. General Sorrengail’s daughter. The woman who signed our parents’ death warrants. Unlike Imogen, I feel nothing when I look at her. She’s just small and pale and will probably die before Threshing.
But that afternoon, Xaden transfers Violet’s squad to his wing.
I wait until formation ends to corner him. “Why did you transfer Sorrengail’s squad?”
“She’s a liability to what we’re doing here.”
“So?”
“So I need to keep an eye on her.” He adjusts his flight jacket. “Make sure she doesn’t get too curious about marked ones.”
“Since when do you personally babysit potential threats?”
“Since the threat is the general’s fucking daughter.” He finally looks at me, but his eyes don’t quite meet mine. “It’s too risky to leave her with anyone else.”
I drop it. His explanation makes sense, and I trust him.
Two weeks later, Xaden shows up at our library meeting twenty minutes late. “Squad discipline issue,” he says, kissing my neck while he spreads new intelligence across the table. His hands slide under my shirt, but when I arch against him, he turns back to study a supply manifest.
“This route through the Esben Mountains might work better,” he says against my shoulder.
The next week, Bodhi appears in the armory. “Xaden’s stuck in formation reviews,” he says, grabbing practice swords. “Want to spar anyway?”
He moves faster than last year. When he pins me against the mat, sweat dampens his dark curls, and his brown eyes crinkle when he grins.
“Remember when you cried every time I beat you at combat practice?” I tease.
“We were nine and you were cheating.”
“I was not cheating. I was being creative.”
“You threw dirt in my eyes.”
“Strategy,” I laugh, and he grins back.
Xaden appears in the doorway and crosses his arms. “Reviews are over,” he says. “You can get off of her now.”
Bodhi gets up and extends his hand. I grab it and stand, wiping sweat from my palms.
“Good session,” Bodhi says.
“Yeah.” I pick up the practice swords and rack them.
Xaden watches us. “Bodhi.”
“Cousin.” Bodhi nods and heads for the door. “See you at dinner,” he tells me.
After he leaves, Xaden steps closer. “How long was he on top of you?”
“We were sparring.”
“How long?”
A week before Threshing, I wake to Xaden sitting on the edge of the bed. He stares at the floor, elbows on his knees.
“Bad one?” I ask.
He nods and runs a hand down his face. “My father.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and rub his back.
“Not the execution,” he says after a long moment. “Before. When I was seven and broke my arm falling off my horse. He carried me to the healers himself.” Xaden’s voice stays steady. “Said broken bones meant I was trying.”
I rest my cheek against his shoulder and wrap my arms around his torso.
“I miss him,” he says. “Not the duke. Not the rebellion shit. Just my father who picked me up when I fell.”
“I know.”
We sit in the quiet for a while, then he lies back down and pulls me against him. “Go back to sleep.”
But I feel him staring at the ceiling until dawn.
When I wake, the bed is cold. A piece of paper lies where Xaden’s head should be.
Wingleader meeting - X
I get dressed and head to breakfast alone.
In the courtyard, Xaden works with Violet’s squad, guiding her through sword forms. I change direction toward the library.
I find a corner table in the library and open a book I can’t read. The same sentence stares back at me for twenty minutes.
Bodhi appears with a plate of eggs and toast, sets it down, and takes the chair across from me.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You are now.” He opens his book. “Eat.”
I pick up the fork. The food tastes like nothing, but I eat because he brought it. Because he noticed I wasn’t there. Because he came looking.
I push the empty plate aside. The sound makes him look up from his book.
“Better?”
I nod.
“Library at seven if you want company.”
At seven, I find Bodhi at the same table, books scattered before him.
“Thought you might not come,” Bodhi says.
“You waited.”
“Said I would be here, didn’t I?” He pulls out my chair. “What are you working on?”
Two days later, Xaden skips dinner for squad reviews. Bodhi saves my seat and shares his bread when mine grows cold.
Wednesday, a note waits on my pillow: Wingleader meeting ran late. Tomorrow night - X
Bodhi tracks me down in the armory and proposes knife practice instead. He throws soft twice.
Thursday, Xaden bolts from our study session, consumed by intelligence reports. Twenty minutes in, he kisses my forehead and flees to another meeting.
Bodhi arrives ten minutes later with hot tea and camps until the library closes.
Friday morning, I wake alone. No note.
Bodhi pounds on my door at noon with lunch and cards. We play until evening, and he never asks where Xaden went.
Saturday, Xaden corners me after formation. “Sorry about yesterday. Wingleader duties are crushing me before Threshing.”
I nod and endure his kiss, but something cold grips my chest.
That night, Bodhi demonstrates a new card game Garrick created. When I laugh at his jokes, the cold grip loosens.
October first arrives cold and gray.
I watch as dragons circle the valley beneath the citadel. When Tairn descends toward the clearing, I hold my breath. He hasn’t chosen a rider in five years.
Violet Sorrengail stands frozen as Tairn approaches her.
When his head drops and touches her hand, my blood chills. Sgaeyl’s mate just bonded the general’s daughter.
That night, Xaden comes to my room, but his hands shake when he touches me.
“How does it feel?” I ask. “Being connected to her?”
He stiffens. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
He won’t look at me. “I need sleep.”
I lie awake knowing exactly what’s happening and feeling powerless to stop it.
The next morning, I wake to cold sheets and another note: Early formation. Back tonight - X
But he doesn’t come back that night.
Or the next.
Three days later, Xaden shows up. “Had to drill Violet on flight formations.”
“Flight formations.”
“She dies, I die.” His mouth hardens. “Fucking dragon politics.”
I watch him. “That’s it?”
He shrugs and heads for the door. “Section formation in ten.”
Bodhi finds me at breakfast the next morning. “You missed War Games theory yesterday.”
“Didn’t feel like going.”
He drops his notes beside my plate. “Copied them for you.”
Later, crossing the courtyard to Battle Brief, I spot Xaden correcting Violet’s sword grip. He adjusts her elbow, steps back, nods when she gets it right.
My chest tightens.
Xaden’s gone for three nights straight. Notes pile up: Dragon training. Formation reviews. Combat assessments.
I fall asleep in the library waiting for him to show. I wake to Bodhi’s flight jacket draped over my shoulders and a fresh cup of tea cooling beside my books.
The next afternoon, heading back from the archives, I catch Xaden and Violet after sparring practice. She’s bleeding from a cut on her temple. He tilts her chin up, checking the wound with careful fingers, asking if she feels dizzy.
She stares at him like he hung the stars.
The rage hits me so hard I can’t breathe.
I walk away before I break something. The abandoned training room in the east wing reeks of mold and old sweat, but the marked ones use it when regulation practice won’t keep us alive. I slam through the door, snatch a practice sword, and drive it into the straw dummy until my shoulders burn.
“You’re going to tear your rotator cuff.”
I spin around. Bodhi stands in the doorway.
“Leave.”
He enters anyway and selects two practice swords from the rack. “Dummy can’t fight back.”
I drive my blade deeper into the straw. “Good.”
He drops one sword beside me. “Spar with me instead.”
I drive my blade deep into the dummy one final time, then snatch the sword he dropped and whirl on him. “Fine. But I’m not holding back.”
“Wouldn’t ask you to.”
My first strike comes fast and wild. He blocks, parries, gives ground when I need him to. Wild, sloppy, furious and he matches my pace without overwhelming me. When I stumble, he doesn’t take the opening. When I leave myself exposed, he pulls his strikes.
He’s letting me work through the rage, and somehow that makes me angrier.
“Fight me properly.” My blade drives toward his ribs.
“I am fighting you.” He turns the strike aside. “Just not trying to hurt you.”
My strikes turn vicious. He retreats until the wall stops him, then finally fights back without pulling blows. When I overreach, he traps my wrist and twists me around, arm barred across my throat.
“Better?” His breath is hot against my ear.
I drive my elbow into his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t release me, instead sweeping my legs and taking us both down to the mat.
We crash hard, his weight pinning me to the moldy mat. Both of us pant, sweat slicking our skin where we touch. His hand pins my wrist beside my head. When I heave against him, he rocks his weight and settles deeper between my legs.
“Done?”
The fight bleeds out of me all at once. “He’s never here anymore.”
“I know.”
“You are.”
His grip on my wrist loosens. “Always.”
I look up at him. Bodhi, who brings me breakfast when I skip meals. Who copies notes when I miss class. Who shows up every time Xaden doesn’t. Who drapes his jacket over my shoulders and takes every punch I throw when I need to break something.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why do you stay? When he keeps leaving?”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles where his hand still grips my wrist. “Because someone should.”
My chest tightens, but not with rage this time. “Bodhi…”
“Yeah?”
The words escape before I can stop them. “I think I fell for the wrong cousin.”
His hand stills on my wrist. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
I lift my free hand and brush his dark curls away from his forehead. He resembles Xaden, but softer.
His eyes close for a heartbeat. When they open, something raw flashes in them. “Fuck.”
“Bodhi—”
He drops his head, and his mouth finds mine. In the split second his lips touch mine, regret washes over me. Xaden’s face flashes in my mind.
The door crashes open.
Xaden stands there, takes in the scene—me beneath Bodhi, Bodhi’s mouth on mine—and his face goes blank.
“Get off her.”
Bodhi pulls back but doesn’t move. “Xaden—”
“I said get the fuck off of her.”
I slide out from under Bodhi, but Xaden’s already moving. He grabs Bodhi’s shirt and drives him against the wall.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Xaden, stop—”
“Wrong cousin?” He looks directly at me while still pinning Bodhi to the wall.
“How did you—”
“What? You think I don’t have them on you always? My shadows heard everything.” His jaw tightens. “I know what’s been happening between you two when I’m not around.”
“Nothing happened—” I start.
“Nothing?” Xaden’s laugh is harsh. “You call telling my cousin you fell for him nothing? You call nearly kissing him nothing?”
Bodhi tries to push against Xaden’s grip. “She was upset. You’ve been—”
“I’ve been what?” Xaden slams him harder against the wall. “Taking care of my responsibilities? Keeping Violet alive so the dragon bond doesn’t kill me?”
“That’s not—” I step forward.
Xaden releases Bodhi and shoves him toward the door. “Get out.”
“Xaden—”
“I said get out. I need to have some words with my girlfriend.”
Bodhi’s hands come up, but he looks at me instead of his cousin. “I’m sorry.”
“Go. Now.”
Bodhi leaves, the door slamming shut.
“You don’t get to do this.” My voice shakes. “Not after abandoning me day in and day out.”
Xaden whirls on me. “Abandoning you?” He seizes a wooden chair and hurls it against the wall. It splinters. “Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Sorrengail made me a deal.” He advances. “Keep her daughter alive, marked ones live. You live.”
I clamp my hands over my mouth, then throw them in the air. “Gods, Xaden. I thought—”
“Everything I do is for you.” His hands rise like he wants to grab me, then he fists them and pounds the wall beside my head. “Broke my fucking engagement for you.”
Tears flood my eyes.
“Dragon bond means nothing.” He catches my chin, forces me to look at him. “This matters. Us.”
“I thought you were falling for her.”
“You thought I was falling for Violet Sorrengail?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. His hands drop from my chin. “No woman compares to you. None.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
“I love you.” The words sound rough. “I waited ten fucking years to have you. I’m not losing you to anything. Not some bond that doesn’t even compare to what we have. And certainly not my cousin.”
“Xaden—”
“I fucked up. Let you believe my duties matter more than you. Made you feel like you had to run to Bodhi.” His jaw works. “That’s on me.”
I reach for him, but he catches my wrist.
“But you’re mine.” His grip tightens. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to fix what I broke.” His eyes bore into mine. “You belong to me. Not him.”
“Don’t.” I slam my free hand against his chest. “You don’t get to say that and think it fixes everything.”
“What?”
“If you felt like that, why were you so distant? Why did you make me feel like I was losing you?” I hit his chest again. “Why did you let me think—”
He traps my other wrist, pinning both hands against his chest.
“Stop.”
“No.” I twist against his grip. “You made me feel invisible.”
“Stop.” His voice drops. “You want to know why I was distant?”
“Yes.”
“Because every time I’m near you, I can’t think straight. Can’t focus on anything but this.” His grip tightens on my wrists. “And people die when I’m not focused.”
Heat floods between us.
“Prove it.” I say.
He releases my wrists and his mouth crashes against mine. His hands bury in my hair, gripping like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. When I bite his bottom lip, he groans and presses me harder against the wall.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth. “I missed this. Missed you.”
“I did too.”
His hands slide to frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “Let me look at you.”
I look up at him. The man who broke the strongest alliance for Tyrrendor for me.
“There you are,” he murmurs, like he’s seeing me for the first time in months.
His mouth finds mine again, slower this time. One hand tangles back in my hair while the other slides down my neck, over my collarbone, until his palm covers my breast. When his thumb brushes over my nipple, I gasp into his mouth.
“Xaden.”
“I want to remember every sound you make.” His fingers pinch gently, and I arch into his touch. “Every way you respond to me.”
“Then remember this.” I pull his head down and kiss him like I’m claiming him back.
His hands grip the hem of my shirt, fingers scraping along my ribs before he yanks it over my head. When his mouth blazes down my throat, I tangle my fingers in his hair and hold him there.
“I thought I lost you.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Never.” His hands grip my waist, thumbs digging into the skin just below my ribs. “You’re everything I fight for.”
The need slams into us both at once. His mouth crashes against mine, desperate now, and I claw at the buckles of his flight leathers. When his chest crushes against mine, skin to skin, he pins me harder against the wall.
“This,” he growls against my throat. “This is what matters. Not dragons. Not bonds. This.”
I drag my nails down his back. He hisses and his teeth sink into my shoulder, biting down where my own relic marks my skin.
“We match. Remember?”
“I remember.” My hands fist in his hair. “I remember everything.”
He lifts me against the wall, and I wrap my legs around his waist. When his cock enters me, time stops. He claims me inch by slow inch, and my body yields to accommodate him like it was always meant to. My head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as he fills me completely.
He stills, buried deep. “You okay?”
“Perfect.” I frame his face with shaking hands. “You feel perfect.”
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, love.” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “I thought I’d never have this again.”
“You have me.” My walls pulses around him as I adjust. “You’ll always have me.”
Then he moves, and we both combust. This isn’t sex. This is reclaiming. Possessing. Erasing every moment another man’s hands were on my skin.
“You let him touch you,” he snarls, each thrust claiming me deeper.
“I’m sorry.” The words rip from my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Mine.” He thrusts into me hard and stays buried. “Say it.”
“Yours.” I rake my nails down his back, leaving red welts. “Only yours.”
He bites down on my neck, marking me. “No one else touches what’s mine.”
“No one.” I bite his shoulder in return, claiming him back. “Mark me so everyone knows.”
When he finally moves again, the rhythm turns savage. He’s branding my soul, and I surrender it completely.
“Don’t make me feel alone again,” I demand.
“Never.” His grip tightens on my hips. “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll feel me inside you for days. So you never forget I’m with you.”
The words break something open between us. He spins us away from the wall, stumbling toward the center of the room. When my back hits the practice dummy, it crashes to the floor, but he doesn’t stop. His mouth trails down my neck, over my collarbone, until he captures my nipple between his teeth.
“Xaden.” I arch into him, and he pinches one nipple with his fingers while his tongue soothes the other.
“I want to taste every inch of you,” he growls against my breast. “Want to make you come apart for me.”
He lowers me to the mat-covered floor, spreading my legs as he settles between them. His mouth blazes a path down my body, marking my ribs, my hip bones, claiming territory that belongs only to him.
When his tongue finds my clit, I cry out and fist my hands in his hair. He works me with single-minded focus, like making me fall apart is the most important thing in the world. When I’m trembling on the edge, he slides back up my body and stretches me with his cock again.
“That’s it,” he growls, driving into me harder. “Let me hear you.”
A wooden chair splinters against the wall as we move across the floor. I’m coming apart in his arms, and he’s right there with me, worshipping every sound I make. When the pleasure crashes over us, it feels like coming home after a war. My pussy squeezes his twitching cock, hot cum dripping down my thigh.
We collapse together, hearts pounding against each other. I can taste salt when I kiss his throat.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” His hands cup my face, thumbs wiping away tears. “We’re okay.”
His cock stays buried inside me, unwilling to break the connection. Broken furniture surrounds us, evidence of how desperately we needed each other back.
“No more secrets,” I say, touching the scar that cuts through his eyebrow. “No more pulling away.”
“No more secrets.” He kisses my palm. “I promise.”
We stay tangled on the torn mats until our hearts slow. This feels different from before. Stronger.
“I was wrong,” I whisper against his chest. “About falling for the wrong cousin.”
“Yeah?” His arms tighten around me.
“I was always with the right one.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I feel him smirk against my hair. “Good. Now I don’t have to kill my last living relative.” His voice turns dry. “Just beat his ass.”
I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it.”
“I do.”
