“You know,” I begin softly, looking down at my lap and forgetting about my split lip for a second. “I always wanted a boy who’d love me in a ballgown and a face full of makeup, but also love me just as much in sweatpants with a pimple on my nose.” “Like the one you have now?” Spencer says knowingly, and I balk at him. “I do not have a pimple! What is wrong with you, Spencer Hargrove?”
