“That was my mom. She wants to say hi. She’s really good today.” “To me?” I squeak, hand blindly fumbling around for my hairbrush in my side table. “You told her about me?” “Yeah, like, six weeks ago.” “What? Was I that much of a done deal?” His grin is boyish and so unlike him. “I have a way of getting what I want, and I really, really, really want you.” Christ, I think I love him.
