Enzo

Honey was glaring daggers at me, her petite bandaged fist caught in my palm. Her hands were so small that mine completely engulfed hers. Her golden-brown eyes locked with mine, her upper lip curling into a look of utter anger.

She looked about as intimidating as a doe in a meadow.

I almost felt bad that she split her knuckles on my cheekbone. It hurt her more than it hurt me and it pained me that no one taught her how to throw a proper ...