Page 48 of Tricking an Introvert

He said every single word with his dark eyes fixed on hers, focused, penetrating.

"How was that? How did I do? I'm apparently not great at the whole communication thing."

She shook her head. "No, that was…very well communicated. Grade-A communication. You get an A-plus. Michael would approve."

"Right. But I went too fast," he gleaned. "And you're not interested."

What the hell?

She squinted, trying to imagine how he could have come to that conclusion.

"No, I—I'm interested. Very interested."

Jesus, how eloquent.

"Just…in shock, I think. I didn't expect…I didn't think someone like me would…"

She had no word that wouldn't have seemed utterly dumb. Then she realized words were not strictly necessary right then. She got to her feet, crossed the rug separating them, and lowered her face to his.

"Fuck thinking," she whispered, before taking his mouth like she had a right to it, like it belonged to her.

Because it just might.

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