I part my lips and try to pull in a silent gulp of air. I’m going to blame my thudding heart on the heat and the flight of stairs and not on Hans at my side.
Hans, my neighbor, who only started talking to me this weekend. Who pulled my hair and gripped me between my legs with his big hands. Who ate my soup. Who stole my birthday book. Who slept with his body pressed against mine.
His booted feet hardly make a sound on the hallway’s industrial carpet beneath us.
I try to sneak a look at him.
I’ve felt his body, clutched it, but still, seeing him like this is almost… jarring.
He looks so strong with his biceps filling out his short sleeves and his chest muscles stretching the fabric of his T-shirt.
I never really had an opinion on guys with long hair, but I’ve decided I like it. I like it a lot.
Thinking of his hair, I press my lips together and glance up at it.
He has it pulled back into a low, messy bun like he always does, and I want to pull it free. I want to tug on his hair the way he tugged on mine.
I move my eyes to his face and find him staring back at me.
Caught.
“You’re really handsome.” I admit the obvious.
His lips part. But he doesn’t reply. He just looks stunned. And that makes me feel a little less embarrassed about him catching me looking.
“Ready?” I ask, stopping in front of my parents’ unit.
He shakes his head. “Probably not.”
I grin at his answer and pull the key for their door out of my bag.
