Short and sweet.
Nothing phenomenal, just the product of an unproductive Italian class.
Review?
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"You wanna know something?"
I just looked up into his imploring eyes, baby worlds the color of pea soup.
"Mhm." I nodded, tucking my head beneath his chin, if only because it seemed to fit. I felt his chest rising against my spine, and I tried to identify the patterns his thumb was tracing on the back of my hand laced in his.
"I don't think I know the first thing about love," he said, blunter than old kitchen knives.
I know he wanted me to look up at him then. He wanted me to find his eyes, find his posed apologies and tell him he was wrong - he knew everything about love. And I was learning from him each day. He wanted me to tell him I was pure, he was sure; and nothing else in our small worlds had as much weight as him and I.
He wanted me to lie.
But I think the only thing Roger Davis knew less about than love.. was me.
"Yeah," I breathed without meeting his eyes, and it tasted like timid truth. "I know."