“Are you flirting with me?” I asked, proud that my voice didn’t shake the way my thighs did beneath the table. “Will you hit me if I say yes?” His playfulness was infectious. I tamped down my urge to smile and nodded somberly. “Yes.” “Good,” he said with a wink, “then hit me. I like it rough.” “You’re ridiculous,” I said, giving in to my laughter but sobering slightly when I caught the look he was giving me. “What? Do I still have pomegranate juice on my mouth?” “I’ve never been so proud to make another person laugh,” he told me seriously. I swallowed the mass of emotion that rose in my
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