“Is he okay?” she asks as she makes her way over to me, and I try to distract her from the question by reaching out and fingering the sleek shiny material of the black swimsuit in her hand. “One-pieces?” I retort with a wrinkled nose. “Gross. Come on, Cutie, you could totally pull off a bikini.” “What's wrong with Copeland?” she asks again, tilting her head to the side, her red ponytail swinging with the motion. Those emerald green eyes lock on my face and I find it hard to breathe for a second there, my heart thundering in my chest. God. I've got it bad. I reach a hand up and cup the side of
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