“You’re flush.” Linus still held my hand. “Do you have a fever?” “Maybe?” Anything was better than admitting what was on my mind. Namely him. “I don’t feel so good.” For as long as I could remember, I had wanted one thing, and that one thing was Boaz Pritchard. Now I had him, some days more than others, and I was blushing over drinking after Linus. Ridiculous. Absurd. Impossible. Ludicrous. I didn’t like Linus. I didn’t want Linus. I didn’t find Linus attractive.
