“Oh, okay. Excuse me, Preppy.” I wrinkle my nose at the nickname, not exactly sure if it’s a compliment, insult, or a general observation compared to his grunge style. “Preppy?” “Yeah. You didn’t tell me your name,” he says, smirking. “I think it fits, though, no?” He licks his bottom lip, then bites it, eyeing me from the meticulous swoop of my hair down to my feet. “But I’m into it.”
