It was not at all a sexual remark, but for some reason my body takes it that way. The deep rumble of his voice sends a shiver through me. Whit grabs my shoulders and spins me toward my bedroom. “Who needs a pinky finger? I mean, really. Would you be the kind of guy to shake it off and say it’s fine or run screaming to the hospital?” “Like, say you severed your pinky while cooking.

How do you think I ended up with a career-ending injury? “Are you one of those people who always downplays being sick or injured?” “It’s not the flu, jackass, but good to know where your priorities are at. “Maybe it’s a head cold.” Whit winces and steps back. “Are you sure allergies is all it is?” Whit’s hand comes up to try to touch my forehead, but I swat it away. To feel better I need to go outside, but to go outside, I need to feel better.” “Who are you, my mother? I didn’t get to the store. Can I get you anything? Do you have allergy meds?” Does that make bees, like, nature’s pimps?” “I will never look at trees the same way again. “I swear I walked past a tree that sprayed its sex pollen all over me. You’re supposed to say puffy eyes is the new sexy.” “Your boss told me you were actually sick, not being a whiny baby.” “Did I ever mention how much I hate spring?” My eyes are still itchy, and my nose is like a faucet. I half roll, half fall off the couch onto my knees and slowly stand to get to the door. I’m lying on my couch feeling sorry for myself when the buzzer for my front door sounds. For a college student, his social media presence is scarily absent.

Headstrong eden finley