Page 26 of Hate You, Maybe

Chapter Eighteen

Reasons Why Dexter Michaels

Might Not be the Actual Worst:

a slightly less wordy brain dump

He wasn’t fazed by my tampon debacle. Or the fact that I had three boxes.

Jojo. No one with a sister that great can be all bad. Probably.

He remembers to knock. And also my middle name.

There’s Neosporin in his travel bag. (See also: he’s gentle with blisters.)

Clarence the Teddy Bear and secret tattoos—right to the moon and back.

He’s NOT into Tori.

He doesn’t snore, at least from what I heard.

Morning bedhead. (See also: Bedhead at most times of day.)

Feelings soup. It’s what’s for dinner.

I think he’s coming around on my clipboards.