America," he begged.
I turned to Maxon.
"They're fine. The rebels were slow, and everyone here knows what to do in an emergency."
I nodded. We stood there quietly for a minute, and I could tell he was about to move on.
"Maxon," I whispered.
He turned back, a little surprised to be addressed so casually.
"About last night. Let me explain. When they came to prep us, to get us ready to come here, there was a man who told me that I was never to turn you down. No matter what you asked for. Not ever."
He was dumbfounded. "What?"
"He made it sound like you might ask for certain things. And you said yourself that you hadn't been around many women. After eighteen years...and then you sent the cameras away. I just got scared when you got that close to me."
Maxon shook his head, trying to process all this. Humiliation, rage, and disbelief all played across his typically even-tempered face.
"Was everyone told this?" he asked, sounding appalled at the idea.
"I don't know. I can't imagine many girls would need such a warning. They're probably waiting to pounce on you," I noted, nodding my head toward the rest of the room.
He gave a dark chuckle. "But you're not, so you had absolutely no qualms about kneeing me in the groin, right?"
"I hit your thigh!"
"Oh, please. A man doesn't need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh," he replied, his voice full of skepticism.
A laugh escaped me. Thankfully, Maxon join in. Just then another mass hit the windows, and we stopped in unison. For a moment I had forgotten where I was.
"So how are you handling a roomful of crying women?" I asked.
There was a comical bewilderment in his expression. "Nothing in the world is more confusing!" he whispered urgently. "I haven't the faintest clue how to stop it."
This was the man who was going to lead our country: the guy rendered useless by tears. It was too funny.

Autore: Kiera Cass