Hannah
I tightened my grip on Noah’s arm, my nails digging ever so slightly into his flesh as I yanked him back toward me. He stumbled slightly, an irritated frown creasing his brow as he turned to face me.
“What the hell is your problem?” he snapped, trying to shrug his arm out of my grasp.
With a huff, I held my grip firm on him and led him away to a more secluded spot behind a nearby food truck that appeared to be closed for the day—its doors and windows shut and the interior dark.
Practically pressing the two of us up against the cold metal, I finally whirled to face him and leveled him with a withering glare.
“You want to know what my problem is?” I echoed, arching a challenging eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you tell me what your problem is, Noah? Why are you really
