“You held my hand for the first time in the backseat of a bus.”
A soft chuckle escapes him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life.”
“I doubt that.” I nudge him with my elbow because suddenly, sitting here pressed up against him, it would be so very easy to reach down and pick up his hand.
“Parker. Come on. I’d been in love with you since I was six. It took me eight years to work up the courage to hold your hand.” He gives me a nudge back, and the movement causes our hands to brush each other. His fingers twitch and I wonder if he’s fighting the same instinct I am.”