We go into a diner that looks like it’s straight out of the movie Grease. Instead of sitting across from me, Ian slides in next to me. He stares at me and his finger runs along my cheek, down my neck, and stops just short of where my blouse dips into a V. His eyes are seductively hooded and I couldn’t look away if I tried. “You’re amazing,” he whispers. “You’re amazing.” “No, you really are.” “I think you are.” We both laugh. “You’re an angel.” “You’re trouble,” I laugh. “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he says. “I don’t want you to.” “Is this how you talk to Asher?” My hand had been playing with the veins in his arm and it goes completely still. “No.”