[Briefly distressed, he looks at his hand again, where it rests on her waist. Then at the other one, still clasped in hers. That doesn't feel like something that isn't supposed to be happening. It feels fine. It feels good.]
[He looks at her, faintly lost.]
I don't get it. I feel good about liking you. Is there something about me that you're not supposed to like?
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[Briefly distressed, he looks at his hand again, where it rests on her waist. Then at the other one, still clasped in hers. That doesn't feel like something that isn't supposed to be happening. It feels fine. It feels good.]
[He looks at her, faintly lost.]
I don't get it. I feel good about liking you. Is there something about me that you're not supposed to like?