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“But you are,” I say, delighted inside by this lack of duplicity. “You’re just not cool like the cool kids, the football players and the cheerleaders. You’re cool like the captain of the chess team.”
He shrugs. “Well, is it okay for me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you?”
A wave of unexpected heat rushes through my lower abdomen, and my heart starts to pound. I lean closer. “Is it okay for me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you, either?”
Those gray eyes go wide. Those beautifully cut lips part. He licks them, and I can see he’s almost holding his breath. “Is it okay to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you naked?” he whispers, his eyes still wide. “Or is that too juvenile?”
“It’s sexy as hell,” I whisper back. “Take me home, Hugo.”
I know. I know. This is a very bad idea. This is idiocy. I literally met this guy last night.
But I believe that he is who he says he is, that he’s not hiding anything.
I have tomorrow off.
He takes me home.
