“You’re gorge—mmph — ” The end of her sentence got lost in sliding up his body, head resting on his shoulder. She whispered into the curve of his cheek, instead, “I could clean you up, if you’re that worried about it.” Which started her wondering: what would he look like dressed up? But if they did something like that together, they would be dating. Were they dating now? Or was this just a benefit of being friends, her plan to ease his phobia of touch taken to the logical extreme?
Smiling a little wider at the praise, he kissed her on the forehead and then the lips, eyeing her adoringly. “If you really want to clean me up, I don’t mind, but I’m fine for the moment,” he finally managed to murmur with some coherency, his arms tightening around her. “What are you thinking about, Summer?”
“What you would look like in a suit,” she replied, snuggling closer to his warmth. “And … uh. Um. I don’t — are we — ” She stopped, feeling foolish and stupid and embarrassed. Carefully, she tried again. “I don’t want you to feel … trapped. By this. Me. So, um. Where do you want to go from here?”