I need you to stop saying that word, he thought, because I picture what it’s for, and I’m not chill enough to associate YOU… with… THAT… and act normal. It’s hard enough pretending that everything about you doesn’t throw me off! Your brain, your perfume, your bravery, even your arrogance. Especially your arrogance. And your crazy-beautiful skin and lashes and dimples that all blur together into an explosion of cute every time you smile. You have to stop saying it, because I’m just a guy, and my poker face is trash, and you’re fucking up my brain… and I momentarily forget that I shouldn’t be
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