Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building. Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them.
“Wait. I need to ask him a question.” “You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped.
“Fourteen,” Wrath drawled.
“I’ll remember that at Christmas, asshole.

Autore: J.R. Ward