In a heartbeat.

In a heartbeat…

Those words do something to my heart and it swells, pleased. Three words. So simple. So damn nice to hear…

“Did you know last year JB raised the most amount of money for a campus fundraiser?”

“Um, no, I didn’t. Which one was it?”

“The Lambdas host an auction every spring, and last year Jack had the highest bid. The cause is reading programs for at-risk youth.”

I twirl my straw around my glass. “So what you’re telling me is girls went wild for the guy and bid stupid crazy amounts of money so he’d take them out?”

“Yeah.”

“What did they end up doing?”

He’s silent a few seconds. “Car wash.”

My head tilts to the side. “A car wash.” My voice has no inflection. “That makes no sense.”

“Er. A, um. Topless carwash.”

“What the hell is that?” I quickly cover my mouth with the palm of my hand. “Sorry.”

“JB washed a bunch of cars with no shirt on.”

“While they gawked at him.” Probably got him all soapy with buckets of water, too.

“There was probably some gawking, yes.” He looks a little sheepish now.

“Well.” I sound like a prude; I even feel my lips purse tightly. It’s the face my grandmother makes when she’s pissed at my mom. “Sounds like an elaborate ploy to get some guy you have the hots for to take his shirt off instead of just watching him in the gym like normal girls do when they’re creeping. There are cheaper ways to go about it.”

And I highly doubt JB auctioning himself off to a bunch of women was charitably motivated.

I can barely contain my eye roll.

Abe stares. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

That’s because men and women think differently, hailing from completely different planets according to the author of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus.

“He likes to draw.”

“Who does?”

“Jack.”

“I like to color—does that count?”

Abe laughs. “Like those adult coloring books for relaxation and shit?”

It really does sound nerdy.

Embarrassed, I giggle. “Hey pal, don’t knock it. I’ve invested a lot of time and money in markers.”

“No judging.” He pauses. “Know what I do to relax that’s weird? I have one of those slime containers and I sit and play with it at my desk when no one is looking.”

“Stop it, you do not. What color is it?”

“Do you watch those ‘oddly satisfying’ videos online, too?”

Another laugh. “Sometimes. Do you?”

“Duh—doesn’t everyone?”

“No!” He cackles. “No they do not. Because it’s lame!”

“We are the furthest thing from lame, Abraham.”

He goes still for the second time since we’ve been alone. “Good guess.”

“Not really. I stalked you online before I agreed to this double date.”

He’s quiet again, tearing at a tiny, pink sugar packet. “Find out anything interesting about me?”

“Not really.” I laugh. “Tons of wrestling stuff. Some pictures from high school.”

“And you decided I wasn’t a murderer.”

“Statistically, I’m more likely to get murdered on a date than by a stranger in my own home.” I’m stating facts, but it makes us both laugh. “So technically, you still have time to kill me. Or Hannah, I mean. Her. Not me.”

Abe’s white smile is blinding against his darker skin and my eyes linger on his mouth; mine curves too, mimicking his expression. Dopey, kind of.

Smitten.

God, he is so cute, his eyes the perfect shade of brown, and if he was my date, I’d reach out and run my palm along the clean cut of his hair. I wonder if it’s as coarse as it looks, wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingertips.

Oh god, this is bad.

He breaks the spell. “Right. Hannah.”

“Hannah.”

He raises a brow. “Jack.”

Hannah and Jack: the reason we’re sitting here now.

And speak of the devil…

“We’re back!” Hannah sing-songs, carrying two glasses, setting one in front of me as she plops down, filling the empty chair across from me.

JB has a drink, too; it looks like a cocktail, amber colored and full of ice. He takes a swig, and I try to admire the column of his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. It’s a nice throat, clean shaven and thick. Athletic.

Meaty, one might say, if one were into that sort of thing.

Lord, listen to me, describing him like I’ve just popped out of a historical novel.

His lips are wet when he’s done, and I do my best to imagine kissing his mouth. Full bottom lip, a bit pouty. Strong jawline. Masculine chin I imagine gets dark from beard stubble shortly after it’s been shaved.

JB’s hair is still wet and badly in need of a trim, but it works for him. He’s an athlete and looks like one—a bit rough around the edges, scarred and bruised. Disheveled and unkempt.

Scruffy in a way most girls love these days, just not…me.