“No false impressions.” He said as his hands settled at my waist. “I want to, I could, but I can’t. And I won’t.”
I inhale the words as he breathes them and I idly wonder if either of us actually believes the crap he’s spewing. I don’t think we do. And I’m not sure how I feel about that. So I brush it off and try not to stare at him or his mouth because dwelling on it makes my head and heart hurt more than I’d be willing to tell him. I squeeze my eyes shut and wonder if this is one of those really vivid dreams, mentally berating myself for being relieved when I open them and realize it isn’t.
I repeat: Boys are stupid.
So does that make me stupider? Probably. I might be okay with that.
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