“How old are you?” I wrangle back a smirk at her interest. “Twenty-two.” Her lips part, a quick inhale following closely after. “You’re a baby.” “How does the saying go? Age isn’t anything but a number?” “Yeah, and twenty-two is a very low number.” “Well, how old are you? Twenty-three?” I ask slyly, shifting the smallest bit closer to her, just enough to face her more fully. Her cheeks pinken up at my question, and my chest lurches. “Not even close.” “It doesn’t matter either way. Twenty-three or thirty-three, my interest stands where it is,” I say, my voice thick with conviction. “Well then.
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