The corners of his mouth lift and he hits me with one of those wide smiles that makes my stomach do several somersaults. “What?” I ask when he just keeps staring at me. “Be my girlfriend, hot stuff.” “What?” My hands still. “I want you to be my girlfriend. For real this time.” He sits up. “You’re right. Nothing about this feels casual. It never did. I want to be the guy taking you home, not the asshole sitting across the bar watching you with some other guy.”
