“It’s nothing personal. You’re just not my type.” He puts a hand on his chest, as if offended. “I’m everyone’s type.” I can’t help it. I laugh. Loudly. This guy is something. Charlie blinks at the sound. Admittedly, I have a bloodcurdling laugh. Heather calls it my witch cackle. “You know, some people consider boasting distasteful,” I say. “Nah.” His eyes flash with mischief. “Not you, Alice Everly. You like it.” His voice is deep and rough. Somehow, he makes my name sound illicit. I imagine him whispering against my skin.
