Gripping my hands in his sweater, I decide that isn’t the point and shake him a little. “I was making a joke. We both know that I don’t care about your money or the fact you could take care of me forever and ever. I like you. I had a crush on the person I met in the rain, and my stories were my way of trying to keep him in my life. But they pale in comparison to you.” My stomach somersaults as those words spill out. I stop shaking him, obliging to just clutch my fists and stretch out whatever his sweater is made of. Probably pretentious cashmere. “You make me laugh with your deadpan,
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