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“I still gotta try bone marrow, though." I groan. "Oh, god. Please don't remind me of that conversation." "What? I thought it was enlightening." He wags his eyebrows. My knees buckle. "Yeah, right," I mutter, fighting back a smile. I yank off my glasses. "I still can't believe I said those words to you," I mutter as I clean my lenses with the hem of my ratty T-shirt. "What words?" I tilt my head at him. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." "Refresh my memory." Maybe it's the two glasses of whiskey playing tricks on my perception, but I could swear there's a teasing undercurrent to Max's softly growled request. "Um, okay." I glance down at my scuffed white sneakers to buy myself an extra second to figure out how I want to play this. But then I stop myself. Why overthink it? I've spent the past year and a half crushing on Max and being too freaked out to do anything about it. I need to just live in the moment and say exactly what I'm thinking. "I still can't believe I went on and on about sucking and licking and tonguing in front of you yesterday morning." I'm proud of the way I maintain unwavering eye contact with Max as I speak the words that sent me into a humiliation spiral yesterday. But today? Today those words earn me a sexy crooked grin. And right now I feel like a brazen badass for having the guts to say them again.” — Sarah Echavarre Smith