The message would've been confusing if I didn't know Leo Bracci, but I did, and it was funny. So there I was, sitting in the school parking lot in my 2006 Ford Mustang, snorting in barely contained laughter like a crazy person as I waited on my sister to finish her soccer practice.

A very unladylike pfft escaped my mouth as his reply only fueled my laughter. It took me a few seconds to compose myself enough to text him back.

My own reply sent me into another fit of laughter, thinking of Leo Bracci as my crazy-ass, eighty-one-year-old grandpa. I love that man to death.

That made my mirth disappear in an instant as I felt the heat of a blush rising in my cheeks and warming the tips of my ears, the sensation was slowly becoming familiar over the last twenty-four hours. I swear I haven't blushed so much in all of my seventeen years of existence.

I fist-pumped the air.

I huffed out a short laugh, rolling my eyes at his antics, just as I received another text.

Cue blush multiplied by fifty.

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