I watch the screen intently as the bubbles appear, my heart thudding in my chest once I finally read his reply.
Six:
I’d sit next to you, let you lean on me. Maybe hold your hand, if you wanted, give you my hoodie. Fuck, you’d look so good in it.
I let out a chuckle.
Me:
Giving me your hoodie implies we’re close enough for you to be hoodie-less around me.
Six:
Cherry, baby. I’d one thousand percent be hoodie-less around you, because my body would be burning up over how good you look.
Me:
You can’t just say stuff like that and expect me to stay normal.
Six:
Falling for me, already, Cherry? You don’t even know what I look like. I could have buck teeth and glasses and wear a burlap sack.
I chuckle, shaking my head, picturing what six would look like. I imagine a quiet broody guy with curly hair, even though I know he likes parties, which could probably mean he’s more social than quiet and broody. I don’t even care.
Me:
You don’t know what I look like either.
Six:
Don’t need to. I already know you’re gorgeous.
My chest flutters, but doubt creeps in anyway. He says that because he’s never actually met me, but what if that changed and he didn’t like what he saw?
Me:
You’re kind of ruining other people for me, you know.
Six:
Good. I want to be the only one who gets this part of you.
My smile stretches so wide it physically aches.
Six:Be honest. Would you ever want to meet?
The smile slips from my face as soon as the message comes through.
It’s not the first time he’s asked, but every time it sends my stomach into a slow, spiraling freefall. And every time, my answer is the same.
Me:
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Six:
Why not?
