“Mmm . . . a romance. Didn’t peg you as the type.” He slides the book back onto the shelf. “Then you don’t know me that well.” “Oh, I know you pretty well,” I say, thinking of the past few days and nights. Remembering his arms around me, his body pressed against mine. He tilts his head and squints at me, one eye closed, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m actually flirting. I am, or at least I’m trying to. The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing.
