What do you like?
hat do you like?Logan could answer that question in so many ways.
I like you, Layla.
I like you, Layla.His left thumb twitched in time with his right pointer. He couldn’t send that to her. He’d held her hand already, and he’d narrowly avoided a disaster with the painting. He wasn’t sure what had gotten her so emotional, but he hoped it hadn’t been him.
I like your pretty face. I like how great you are with Ginger Ale. I like—
I like your pretty face. I like how great you are with Ginger Ale. I like—“Tell her you like pizza and be done with it.” Darren glared at him, taking his eyes off the road for a full five seconds. Their trusty truck stayed right on track, almost like it was a steed and could get them home by memory.
Logan shouldn’t have read his texts out loud.
