Xyla Quest looked in the mirror and rolled her eyes at him once more. “Well, what do you think?”

“What?” Stanley Batton’s eyes widened, attentive, and brimming with curiosity.

“Thanks to somebody, I’m in a hurry now, so I don’t have time to dry my hair,” blurted Xyla grumpily.

“Oh.”

“Oh? What do you mean by ‘oh’? Isn’t this your fault?” The more Xyla thought about it, the angrier she got. She could not stop mumbling, “It’s all because of you, bastard.”

He had wasted that one hour.

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