Ian stepped into the room he’d found the troubadour in, and shut the door behind him. He turned away immediately, his own face nearly as red as hers.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, though the anger that had been coursing through him was fading.
Elise, who had always been on the straight forward side, replied with the honesty of a blunt instrument, “Finger f*****g myself, what did it look like asshole?! Why the void did you come in? Get out!”
She was nearly shouting, and when he glanced over his shoulder he saw that she had grabbed a pillow. She looked like she was seconds from pelting him with it.
“I need to talk to you,” Ian said, deciding that he could take a few strikes with a pillow. He’d already walked into the room, i***t that he was. He might as well get this over wit
