“Counterargument.” He brushes off his hands and sets the cereal down, then moves closer. His knee is right by my knee. “I tried to shoot you one time. I’ve tried to help you twice now. One count not-murder. Two counts savior. Two is better than one.”

“You’ve said.”

“And it still stands. Plus, if we add the countless coffees I’ve made you, it really tips the scales in my favor.”

“I can get behind that theory.”

He leans in a little closer, shit-eating grin in place. “And you think I’m cute. That’s about a thousand points on its own.”

My face inches closer to his as well. “Oh yeah? Then how many points is very cute?”

“A thousand more than that.”

My gaze darts to his lips before meeting his eyes again. I’m so fucking sure I see interest there, but with Perry, it’s sort of hard to tell. He looks enthusiastic about almost everything, and I’d hate to misread him. “How many points would it be if I thought you were the sexiest guy I’ve ever met?”

His eyes widen like fucking Bambi, and it’s like I’ve stolen his tongue. “I-I don’t think there’s a point system for that,” he whispers.

“Shame. I think that would be the thing to tip the scales.”

“There you go, then.” He swallows roughly. “I’m not a bad choice at all. You could almost say you’d be ridiculous not to trust me. I’m a sure thing. A guarantee.”

“You also have no idea what words are coming out of your mouth and how they sound right now.”

“I possibly lost consciousness around the word sexy.”

“Technically, it was sexiest.”

“Sure, say it again. That makes everything better when you do.”

It’s almost impossible not to laugh. We’re so close I could count every one of those long, thick eyelashes, could pluck each shade of brown from his eyes, and finally read the interest staring back at me.

“Perry …” My voice is hard to recognize. “Are you sure you’re straight?”

His lips part, and I wait for the immediate confirmation. It doesn’t come.

“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PERRY

St. Clare leaves to shower, and the place where he was sitting haunts me like I could still reach out and touch him. Sitting so close should have been a lesson in hygiene, given we’re both covered in dry sweat, but I only wanted to lean in more.

There’s something going on in my head, and after learning about how Elle always thought she was straight until she met Margot, I have a guess at what it is. And it’s not the first time.

Some men are intimidating. I look up to them. Am drawn to them. Maybe sometimes that respect turns to interest, and that interest becomes something that gets my cock going.