[no, she doesn't sound sorry, and she doesn't look particularly sorry, either. this is the thought that hits him as he studies her for a minute, arms now crossed over his chest as the scowl that's formed on his face deepens just a little.

false alarm, she says. false alarm. yeah freaking right.

he opens his mouth, then closes it again, then repeats that cycle a couple of times, before:]

You know, I wanna believe you, I really do, but — [a beat.] Your aim was way too good to be an accident, which means you were totally hitting me on purpose. Which — if you wanna make friends? Definitely not the way to do it. Just a tip.