"What do I think? I think you're a self-absorbed idiot and you ought to stop following me the hell around," she snaps, tossing her sharp head with the tangle of red hair. "And what do you think of me?"

Perfect. "Harpy," he tells her with a smirk. "Wouldn't you agree?"

And then she smiles at him, a tight, thin smile that makes her ugly face uglier and excellent at the same time. Neither of them say a word. She agrees, and it's perfect.