“This.” He nods at the laptop. “S.M.B.R.O.A.H.F.O.R.C. Though I really think we could come up with a better name.” “Really?” He pauses. Leans closer, until there is nothing between us but the dark, thin air, the green-apple scent of his shampoo. I instinctively take a step backward. “Yes, Eliza,” he says, his voice somber. “I really do think we need a better name.”
i love him already
