“I’m kind of glad I met you,” he murmurs, his breath on my face. “I’m glad I took the bus.” He leans in and puts a hand on my leg, making me go numb. To have a male’s hand in my lap, firm and heavy, feels foreign and strange and more than a little amazing. Still, it’s terrifying. I tense, then I smile. “I’m glad, too. You’re cool. And…” “And what?” “…Hot.” He moves his hand closer. “Wow.” “I know, I can’t believe I just said that, either. The thing is…” “You have a certain view of the word ‘straight,’ and it involves fast cars and cold beer and slutty girls?” he asks. “I mean…pretty much.”
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