My heart flutters when he says that. He thinks I’m cute! He thinks I’m cute! The little cheerleader inside my chest does a pep squad routine. Wait—where’s that part of me that’s always pissed off at getting objectified by guys? Trying to play it cool, I hold up a finger to stop him. “Wait, wait, wait. Saying that I have the hots for you and saying that I think you look…good…are two entirely different things.” He rubs his big hands together. “Ooh! So now you admit that I look good? We’re getting somewhere.”
