I’ve never been good at small talk anyway. My brain just won’t do it. Instead I’m dying to say exactly what I’m thinking: You look gorgeous. I like your jean shorts—I haven’t seen these on you before. Your white tank top is cute. Has your manager bugged you today? I don’t want you to go. I’ve been dreaming of kissing you again. I don’t trust myself alone with you. And I want to hear every single detail of your day from start to finish, don’t leave anything out. I know she’d tell me. She’d spill her pretty guts and her eyes would sparkle and light up like they do when she’s happy. Instead, I
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