At first, it was little things that broke through. The way he looked at me when he thought I couldn’t see. The way he blushed if we inadvertently bumped or brushed into each other. And I couldn’t forget the gray sweatpants each night. The second night he’d stayed, I’d woken a little when he went to carry me to bed, and I couldn’t help but peek at the front of his gray sweatpants. More than peek. I needed to more than peek in order to see all of him. Let’s just say that his IQ wasn’t the most massive thing about him.
