Miscommunication

“Fucking hell,” Jon groaned, staring down at where her hand remained on his thigh. “Sansa…you’re drunk.”“Then call me tomorrow,” she insisted, retreating back into her seat. Jon scoffed.“You want me to call you tomorrow and ask for a blowjob?” he asked incredulously, shaking his head as he finally started the engine. “You’re drunker than I thought. I’m going to kill Theon for letting you drink so much!”“I’ve fancied you for as long as I can remember,” she replied hotly, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring out of the window. “And I’m seventeen, I can have sex if I want.”“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to,” Jon countered before his head snapped to hers. “Wait, what?!”