“Wanna dance?" he asked"I guess you'll do. All the cute guys are already taken," I answered with a grin."You wound me with your callousness," he sighed dramatically, taking me in his arms."I do have a black belt in demolishing overstuffed egos.”

“How did I dance with a guy who's never heard of feminism?""I've heard of it, but that doesn't mean a woman can do everything a man can do," he goaded. I went to smack him on the back of his head, but he ducked with a snicker."I'm learning," he informed me. "How did I ever consider dating such a violent girl?""We're both lucky we got out early before we really knew each other.""Oh yes, good thing neither one of is still interested in the other," Brent said with a playful grin.”

“Brent put his arm around me whispering, “I know.” I wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with the fact that we had conquered Thomas, if he knew thereal reason I had risked so much to save him, or if he understood why I was crying. I decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he washolding me.”

“I stopped at a red light, turned my head, and allowed myself to enjoy the handsomeness that was Brent.He noticed my staring and asked, "What?""As if you don't know. You're not the type of guy that a girl gets tired of looking at.""Oh. Well in that case, you're welcome to look all you want," he said and gestured to himself. "You're allowed to touch, too." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.I lowered my voice into its sexy-husky range. "I was hoping you'd say that." With my flirtiest look on my face, I rubbed my hand slowly up his arm and then pinched him firmly on the shoulder."Ow!" Brent rubbed his shoulder and grinned. "Not what I had in mind!”

“A few minutes after discovering we had a goal but no plan, Brent was laughing heartily at a pathetic joke I had made. It reminded me of the firstday on campus when I had thought his laughter sounded like a melody. It did now, even more so. It was music, beautiful, in a manly way, like asensual, slow jazz. I loved jazz.“Jazz, huh?” Brent asked, his voice suddenly husky.“Uh . . . what?”“My laugh reminds you of jazz? Is there anything about me you don’t find attractive?” He rubbed his hand over his lips trying to cover his smirk.“So tell me, how much do you love jazz?”I’m sure my face was pinker than the inside of a watermelon. “I didn’t say any of that.”“You didn’t have to say it, Yara, I could hear it.” Brent tapped the side of his head. “I can hear your thoughts.”“You’re not serious.”“Oh, but I am,” he said, completely straight-faced.”

“Want to talk about it?" I asked gently.He smirked at me. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm a guy. We don't do that." My nose scrunched up in confusion. "We don't discuss our feelings.""That's a relief; I don't want to talk about it either.”

“He looked like he wanted to say something but his jaw tensed andinstead he let his hand travel from my elbow to my hand, the strong pulse from his fingers like a balm to my injured soul. I raised our entwined handsand placed them over the steady thumping of his heart a twin of the rhythm in my own chest. I pressed my head to his chest letting the steady paceof his heart and his citrusy, musky scent envelop me, lull me into a place of security. A place safe enough that I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. Ifailed to sniff back the tears that began to leak from me.”