“I’ve been hitting on you all weekend. Thanks for finally noticing.” “I—you—why are you hitting on me?” I sputter. “Zac, why are you still hard?” I reach for the sleeping bag we’ve been using and throw it over his waist. “I’m hitting on you because I’m attracted to you,” he articulates carefully, as though trying to make me understand. “And I’m still hard because it appears my body has finally decided to give up all pretense when it comes to you.”
