As we stand staring at each other, my skin heats to ten degrees warmer than usual, and I can’t stop thinking how lucky his tongue is to be able to taste his lip. I’ve never had those kinds of thoughts before. Now it’s all I can think.
“You were looking for me?” With how inexperienced I am as a flirt, this is painful for me. My stomach actually hurts.
“Yeah.” He says it like it’s so matter of fact, as if that’s not an event of nuclear-level importance in my life.
There’s the million-dollar question. Why is Tommy Dubrovsky looking for me? He is gorgeous and the star at the center of our close-knit little high school’s universe, even if he is a little on the wild side—the kind of kid who shows up with scuffs on his knuckles from fighting and mud on the knees of his jeans from racing dirt b
