I sighed. “I was talking to a friend of mine about you, and I said I wasn’t sure if I wanted to date somebody –” deep breath! “– as preppy as you are. And she said that she’d heard you aren’t as preppy as you look, and that you like it rough. And that’s when I agreed to this date.” I could feel my face heating up. I’d just accused my date of being preppy – true or not, them’s fightin’ words among the people I usually run with – and I’d promptly followed that up with a roundabout admission that I liked rough sex. I was mortified. I heard footsteps behind me. “Alex…” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I do have a temper, and I hate all the gossip in this town, and maybe I overreacted.” A firm hand on my shoulder directed me to turn around. I was still blushing, still staring straight ahead. When I’d turned, “straight ahead” changed from a view of the bridge to a view of Tad’s chest. Then a view of an arm, as his hand moved from my shoulder to my chin, and for the second time that night he was lifting my chin.
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