“is she your type?” i ask, motioning to the smokin’ hot YouTube guru i had playing on his desktop
“come here” he says, pulling me to sit on his lap at the edge of his bed
“you are my type” he affirms, wrapping his arms around my waist
“no i’m not” i laugh rolling my eyes, then searching his for a visual contradiction to his words
i find none.
“you are now.” and he kisses me on the cheek