Perfect 10. Erin McCarthy

in her cheeks again and she wondered when she was finally going to be old enough to stop blushing. It was like acne—it just shouldn’t happen past middle school.

      “It was a great night, you have to admit.”

      “I think I did. Quite publicly.” It was distracting to be so close to him, his kilt brushing against her, his fingers entwined with hers. But it was good to hear him say he’d enjoyed it, too.

      “And you’re beautiful.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.

      The love she felt for him, that she’d been attempting to suppress with mixed success, came rushing back to the surface. “Thanks,” she whispered.

      “Now can you please tell me why I only got a five out of ten for the good dresser category? That was brutal. I may need therapy.”

      Way to ruin the moment. She rolled her eyes. “You have exactly two pairs of jeans and enough plaid to represent every clan in Scotland. I had to ding you somewhere or the app would have recommended I see you again.”

      She wasn’t trying to be suggestive. She really wasn’t. But the words just sort of hung in the air between them for a long, painful pause and she refused to be the one to speak first, because she would apologize or embarrass herself by sounding needy.

      Finally, Drew said, “But an eight out of ten for kissing? I don’t know. I thought we had a ten going on.”

      Interesting. And arousing. Katrina tried to play it cool, which was hard to do when her entire sexual history had been posted online and when he was wearing a kilt. But she gave it her best shot. “You misread. It was definitely listed as a ten.”

      “Let’s find out for sure,” he said.

      Then he closed the gap between them and kissed her.