But mostly, I liked how incredibly cute he was.

Cute and edgy.

Holding my cup of beer in hand, I stared up at him.

God yes, he was cute. So cute.

But cute in a way that my mother would not curl up at night, safe in the knowledge her daughter had excellent taste in men. In other words, talking to a well-dressed guy who I would soon learn had a life mission he’d decided when he was a boy, this being astronaut or curer of cancer.

Cute in a way my mother would despair, pray for, and live in terror of and my father would consider committing murder (one of the various reasons my mother would be living in terror).

But looking into his warm, brown eyes, for once in my life, I didn’t care what my mother and father thought.

I just cared about the fact he was standing close to me at Kellie’s party, he’d come right to me and he’d said “hey.”

“Name’s Logan,” he told me.

God, he even had a cool name.

“Millie,” I replied.

I watched his eyes widen a bit before he burst out laughing.

That wasn’t very nice.

I swayed a little away from him, feeling hurt.

He kept chuckling but he noticed my movement and focused intently on me, asking, “Where you goin’?”

“I need a fresh beer,” I lied.

He looked into my full cup.

Then he looked at me, smiling.

Oh God, yes. He was so cute.

But he was kinda mean.

I mean, my name wasn’t funny. It was old-fashioned but it was my great-grandmother’s name. My mother had adored her, and Granny had lived long enough for me to adore her too.

I liked my name.

“You got Millie written all over you,” he stated.

What a weird thing to say.

And more weird, it was like he knew what I was thinking.

“What?” I asked.

“Darlin’, all that hair that doesn’t know whether it wants to be red or blonde. Those big brown eyes.” His smooth, deep voice dipped in a way that I felt in my belly. “That.” He lifted his beer cup with one finger extended and pointed close to my mouth so I knew he was indicating the little mole that was just in from the right corner of my top lip. “Cute. Sweet. No better name for a girl that’s all that but Millie.”

Okay, that was nice.

“Well, thanks, I think,” I mumbled.

“Trust me, it’s a compliment,” he assured.

I nodded.

“What’re you doin’ tomorrow night?”

I felt my head give a small jerk.

Holy crap, was he asking me out on a date?

“I… nothing,” I answered.

“Good, then we’re goin’ out. You got a number?”

He was!

He was asking me out on a date!

My heartbeat quickened and my legs started to feel all tingly.

“I… yes,” I replied then went on stupidly, “I have a number.”

“Give it to me.”