At the end of the day, I don’t want the guy who’s going to ask if he can hold my hand. I want the one who’s going to tear off my underwear, grab my wrists, and pin me to the wall. Preferably while whispering filthy things in my ear about what he’s going to do to me next. It’s a bit of a problem. Especially when Nash is the wrist-grabbing, wall-pinning, dirty-talking type.
