“He’s not my type.” “Hmm,” I hum, knocking him with my shoulder. “What is your type?” His voice is rough against my ear as he leans down, pressing the heat of his body into my back and whispering, “Lately, pretty blondes with smart-ass mouths.” “Oh,” I say casually, pretending like the feel of him doesn’t set every molecule in my body on fire. “So, Leo.”
