The heat in his eyes tells me that both our heads are in the gutter. It’s both a thrilling realization—that maybe I’m not entirely alone in my thirst—and a terrifying one. Because I bet a more experienced girl would know what all the teasing smiles and innuendos meant. What if this is how Vincent is? What if he flirts with everyone (baristas, professors, classmates in his labs) and I’m just a girl who overthinks everything and has a bad case of main character syndrome?
