“You’re it,” I whispered. “A perfect ten on the Rikker scale.” “The what?” But I couldn’t even explain without my voice breaking. So I sat back in my seat and just studied him. He was wearing Ross’s crimson ‘Bama t-shirt, and watching me with those cool blue eyes. “Love you so much, G,” I choked out. He stole one of my French fries. “Love you, too, Rik. Now eat your lunch so that we can go home.”
