Amber felt Lance retreating right in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Sure you do,” he said, cutting her a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not twenty-five-years-old, Amber. We’re adults. If you’re not into me, it’s fine.”
But she was “into him.” She was.
Before she could explain that her mother was just too nosy, and Amber didn’t feel like sharing tonight of all nights—didn’t her mother know it was Valentine’s Day? Why was she texting right now?—Lance asked, “How many boyfriends have you had?”
“Ever?” she asked.
“Let’s say in the last three years,” he clarified.
She hated that he wouldn’t look at her. Yes, there were dozens of people within earshot, and no, she didn’t want to cause a scene either.
“A lot,” she admitted. Surely he
