“So…” But I stop myself. I can’t finish the sentence. It’s too close to flirting, too…intimate. Fuck it. “So?” he echoes, impatiently waiting for me to finish. “So, how did I do?” I desperately want to bury my face in my hands or hide under the table or even pull the fire alarm, but if he’s going to be so flippant and nonchalant about this, then so will I. Because I’m actually dying to know now.
