"You don't think I know that?" He can feel the way his chest gets tight, the settling weight of his own regrets and something that feels a little too much like grief for him to look at too directly, at least right now. Not while she's in front of him, feral and vulgar and every inch the handcuffed delinquent he'd seen on the recording from the hospital--and even now, he finds her beautiful.

What a fool he's been.

"But, of course, you've already moved on rather neatly, haven't you?" The sneering question slips out before he can stop himself--though in the moment he's not sure he would have, if he'd even thought to. "Was he enamored with you before you took your clothing off, or did that all come after?"