If anyone walked in on us right now they'd see how tight he's holding me, how close our bodies are pressed together. No one ever talks to me like he does, but I like that he's not so careful. Everyone is so polite and well-mannered in front of me. I'd take Ford cursing up a storm over programmed robots any day of the week.
When he opens his eyes again, his lids are heavy and his lips part just a little. "You're seventeen, Sloan. You can't say s**t like that to me."
"I'm eighteen tomorrow," I remind him.
"Trust me, I know that." He releases me and takes a step back then runs his hand through his short dark hair. "Besides, this place has too many eyes." He looks to his left and right as if making sure we're still alone.
"Not in my wing." I point towards the doors that lead back into my p
