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“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hannah fiddles with a napkin. “I’m not stupid. I know I can be a little much. To use the words of one of my classmates, I’m ‘demanding’ and ‘abrasive’ sometimes. You don’t seem to mind, which is nice.”
For a second, I think she’s joking. But when she continues to avoid my eyes, it’s clear Hannah actually believes what she’s saying.
“Of course I don’t mind being around you. You’re funny and ruthless and awesome.”
She shrugs, even as the edges of her mouth curve upward.
I take a moment to consider Hannah’s obliviousness.
Does she really think people don’t like her? How could she not see the clear interest that guy has for her? Is this a common thing?
What if she’sneverpicked up on romantic signals before?
“So, last night was the first time you ever had a beer, right?” I ask aloud.
“Yeah.” She watches my face, as if trying to figure out where my random question came from, while I’m searching for a way to broach the idea that just popped into my mind.
“Was that the only first you had last night?”
Hannah chews on the corner of her bottom lip. “Are you talking about Mario Kart? Because it’s been a while, but I’ve definitely played before.”
“No. That’s not what I mean.” I keep my eyes focused on hers, willing her to understand my question. But my staring only makes her huff out a dramatic breath.
“If you’re trying to ask me something, just do it. I’m not sure I have the energy to figure out how your mind works.” She presses the coffee cup to her mouth again.
My thumb traces over the thin blue veins in her wrist, and my gaze locks on the movement, as I suddenly find it hard to meet her eyes. “Was I your first kiss?”
Her snort answers me before her words do. “What? No. How inexperienced do you think I am?”
“Well, you can’t seem to tell when a guy likes you, so I just wondered …” I trail off.
Hannah rolls her eyes and shakes her head, all at once, my idiocy too much for her to handle. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Lucifer, but I’ve kissed guys before. Had a boyfriend for the last few years of high school. We even”—she leans in close, whispering to me in a hushed voice—“had sex!”
Hannah sits up and dramatically glances around us, as if worried about being overheard. All clearly an act to make me feel even more ridiculous.
Which I do. But only a little bit.
Some guys get off on the idea of deflowering a virgin. They see it as a manly power thing. I’ve got nothing against virgins, but I find it’s easier to figure out what a girl wants in bed if she’s spent some time figuring it out herself.
“Sorry. I’m an idiot. You are super experienced. A master of the bedroom.”
I expect her to come back with something equally silly or at least share a grin with me. Instead, the humor trickles out of Hannah’s soft brown eyes, leaving her looking embarrassed. When she drinks from her cup this time, I would bet good money it’s to avoid looking at me.
“Hey, Shorty? What’s up?”
Instead of answering, she tries to pull her hand out of mine, but I’m not ready to let her go. When she gives up her tugging, I lift her palm to my mouth, so I can kiss the meaty part at the base of her thumb.
That earns me a twitch of her lips, but she still keeps her eyes to herself.
“Come on. Tell me.”
“It’s embarrassing,” she mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“More embarrassing than my terrible tan lines?” I make sure to affect a horrified expression.
Hannah finally looks up and actually giggles when she sees my face. The smile doesn’t stick around though. Keeping her gaze on our clasped hands, she leans closer.
