I'm not leaving until you tell me why you followed me. I know I'm a fascinating guy, but this is starting to feel like an unhealthy obsession.

Fine! I'll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I'm in my pj's" "I'm a guy. That's like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter.

You’ve never been to school, ever? If that’s true—and you’re right, I don’t think it is—what made you decide to come this year?” “You.

Based on past experience, I hope not.

Rollover minutes don’t work with curfews.

First,” he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, “choose your tomato.” He dipped his head so his mouth was at my ear. His breath was warm, tickling my skin. “Good. Now pick up the knife.” “Does the chef always stand this close?” I asked, not sure if I liked or feared the flutter his closeness caused inside me. “When he’s revealing culinary secrets, yes.

For the first time all day I felt safe. Except that Patch had cornered me in a dark tunnel and was possibly stalking me. Maybe not so safe.