Why the hell am I so obsessed with this topic? I do not even want to know any of this.

He eyes me warily, a soft, questioning smile on his lips showing those neat white teeth and devastating dimples, and I’m instantly distracted.

“I like your smile,” I say, alcohol effectively removing my internal filter again.

“No, I don’t. And I like that you like my smile, Shorty.” He stops and pushes me against the wall to steady me, pulls his buzzing cell from his pocket, ...