“Wait . . .” Nix draws out the words, and I know what he’s putting together. This man was never a dumb jock. “No boyfriend and no hookups . . .” The tick in his jaw reappears. That jaw is chiseled out of the same granite his chest seems to be carved from. “Not since tenth grade?” “There may have been a hookup or two in college . . .” I may also be stretching the definition of hooking up. Am I actually going to have this conversation on the dance floor of one of Kroydon Hills biggest events of the whole damn year? I drag my hand down his chest . . . his incredibly hard, beautifully muscled
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