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"Still... I don't think it's wrong. Your mom was into a certain image, yeah. But you are too. It's just different." I drag my fingertips over his sleeve tattoo, tracing the lines from his wrist up to his bicep. "How much did this cost?"
His tongue slides over his lips. His eyelids flutter together. He's soaking up my touch.
But only for a second.
Then he's looking at me like he can control every one of his senses. "More than that purse."
"How much more?"
"More than you make in a month."
"A summer month?"
"Yeah."
Damn. I'm not exactly rolling in it, but I work a lot in the summer. And summers are busy. Tips are good.
"Don't give me that look."
"What look?" I stare into his deep eyes, trying to find... something. I'm not sure.
"I'm not like my parents." Hurt flares in his expression.
"I know. Just... we all care about how we appear to others. I know I do. I want people to think I'm strong and smart."
"You are."
I bite my lip. I'm not arguing this point, no matter how much I disagree.
He takes my hand. Leads me toward the colorful bags and backpacks to our left. The ones next to the giant silver gorilla. Kipling. My favorite. Half my bags are this brand.
Has he been paying that much attention?
His gaze goes to the backpacks on the wall. He picks up a teal one and turns back to me. "It matches your eyes."
It kinda does. "It's cute."
"Not cute enough for you." He sets it back down. Picks up a pink one next to it.
It's a beautiful shade of pinkâhalfway between pastel and Barbie bright.
He moves back to me.
His fingertips skim my bare skin as he peels my purse off my shoulder then slides the backpack over my arms, one at a time.
They brush my neck as he pushes my hair to one side.
I feel his touch everywhere.
I can't do friends.
Not even a little.
Not with the way my body is buzzing.
I want his body.
And his heart.
