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“Totally different.”
“Is it though?” He cocks his head to the side.
“It is.”
“So, are you going to say it or what?” He refuses to let me redirect the conversation.
“Say what?” I play stupid.
“How about I go first?” His tongue darts out, dragging along his bottom lip. “I think you’re beyond fucking beautiful.”
I bark out a laugh. “Money says you say that to every woman you spend time with.”
“Money says I don’t.”
“Uh huh.” I roll my eyes.
“You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Roll your eyes.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, yes, yes you do. Like all the fucking time.” He leans in a little closer. “But between you and me, I kinda like it.”
“Shut up.” I shove him again.
“There you go, putting your hands on me again.” He tisks.
“Would you be quiet and eat your pasta?”
“Not until you admit you think I’m hot.”
“Why do I have to admit something so obvious?”
“So youdothink I’m hot.”
“Oh my God, yes, okay. I think you’re hot. Newsflash, so does ninety percent of the population.”
“And the other ten percent?”
“They probably have never seen you.”
“So you think I’mreallyhot, then. Is that what I’m hearing?”
I pick up my fork and wag it at him.
“If you don’t eat your pasta, I’m going to make you a little less attractive,” I playfully warn.
“Now you’re threatening me with silverware. Damn, you really are all over the place.”
“Me? What was it you said earlier? Pot meet kettle.”
“Touché.”
“So,” I wait until he’s reclaimed his fork and is swirling noodles onto it before speaking, “did you love her?” I keep my eyes on my own food as I ask because honestly, I’m not sure if it’s something I’m allowed to ask.
