He hums, his eyes all kinds of alive. “Not as much fun as other St. Mary’s girls.”
“What?”
“But it is what it is, I guess.” Then, stepping back, “Goodnight, Echo.”
He takes another step back but my hand reaches out on its own and grabs him.
I’m not even going to think about how my fingers just latch on to him, his t-shirt at his waist.
Or that something inside of me slides into place.
Now that I’m touching him, his heat.
Instead I focus on what he just said. “What?”
He glances down at my puny grip like he always does, probably to emphasize exactly how puny and repeats my word, only calmly. “What?”
I frown up at him. “What do you mean I’m not as fun as other St. Mary’s girls are.”
Something flashes through his eyes, a challenge I think. “Itmeansyou’re not as fun. Also known as boring, tedious, monotonous.” Then, raking his gaze over my blushing cheeks, “Colorless.”
I’m breathing heavily now. “I’m not…colorless.” Then, “And how would you know?”
“How would I know what?”
“If I am or not. How would you knowanythingabout St. Mary’s girls?”
He lets a few moments pass before he replies, “I’ve had a few encounters, if you will.”
“What kind of encounters?”
“Hookups.”
“What?”
“Over the years.”
I twist my fingers in his t-shirt. “You’ve had hookups with a St. Mary’s girl.”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Don’t be.”
“Just tell me,” I insist. “I go to St. Mary’s. It’s my school. I have a right to know who.”
What?
It’s ridiculous, what I just said.
I have zero right to know. I don’t even knowwhyI want to know but I do.
“Is that so?” he rasps, not buying my bullshit.