A muscle pops in his jaw. “You have a date tomorrow,” he says, low and gravelly. Heat burns in my cheeks. “I think so.” “You think?” A crease splits his brows. I nod, squirming in my seat. “I’m going on a date.” This feels like a lie since my “date” is with Micah, but I’m not sure how to change it at this point. My palms sweat from the intensity of his stare, and I want to simply breathe out the truth. Let the words cleanse the air between us and reduce the pressure on my lungs. But this is a definitive reason to stay away from each other. It’s already laid out there for me because I
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