"Hell, he's not going to realise," Hemingway agreed, with a dismissive shake of his head. "Kid got sore with me for not calling him in Milan, for Gods sake. He wonders why I don't come spilling my guts to him at every opportunity? Christ," he muttered through gritted teeth, the anger aimed in the appropriate direction once again. He was swinging between his usual self-depreciation and a more justified sort of anger. It wasn't quite a balance yet, it was a seesaw, but it was an improvement at least. "What, so I don't shoot him in a psychotic rage?" he asked, with a teasing glint in his eye.
He chuckled happily at her playful reaction. "Oh, stop being sensible for a minute and c'mere-" he insisted, his fingers raking through blonde locks until he tugged lightly at the back of her neck, pulling her back in for a rougher kiss.