Fifteen seconds later, Anderson flips on the bedside lamp. Shadows fall across his face and chest. He's wearing a black tank top that shows the lines of his shoulders and collarbone.
"Fine," Anderson says. "If you're staying, we have to talk about something else. Deal or no deal?"
"Deal," I answer, but I'm not sure what's left to say. Well, I am, but I don't think he'll want to hear it. I cross my legs under me, and he mirrors my pose. We sit facing each other in silence.
"So…" I trace slow circles on his bedsheet. "What should we talk about?"
"What's your problem with seatbelts?" His fingers tap a spot on his knee. My chest tightens as he waits for my answer. "Your dad told me already, but I want to hear it from you."
