hit you for doin’ this to me or forgive you like you want!” “Maybe both,” he suggests. I stare him down. People are still drunkenly shouting at us and laughing, maybe some of them video recording this still, but none of it distracts me from Chad’s eyes. I’m inexplicably arrested by them. Held prisoner in his arms, floating in the center of a big pool, as wet as a dog in the rain. And trapped in his passionate gaze. “Maybe both,” I finally agree quietly.
