He is desperate, clenching his jaw, all his muscles tense. So out of options, he backtracks all the way to our axiom. “Maybe I just don’t want you,” he says through gritted teeth. I smile. Poor guy. “Yeah? Maybe. Though you already admitted you do.” “Maybe I fucking lied.” I bite back an even wider grin. “I get it. You didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I bet you don’t really find me beautiful. Or smart.” His eye twitches, like he’s dying to contradict me on that. It’s sweet. It makes me want him even more.
