“You have to tell me that story again,” I barked out a laugh that sounded more like a wheezing donkey.
Very attractive and with anyone else, I would feel embarrassed, but Lachlan’s face is beet red from laughing himself, and I can't bring myself to care about trivial things in his presence.
“You didn’t listen the first time because you couldn’t hear over the sound of your laughter,” he narrows his eyes at me, flicking a French fry in my direction.
I mimic a zipper over my lips and clear my throat, trying to focus.
“Maverick and I were thirteen. Picture me, late bloomer, scrawny,” he rolls his eyes with the shake of his head as if that were just preposterous, taking a sip of his chocolate milkshake, “And Mav was like, six foot two in the seventh grade. At that time, it was the start
