I dropped my head back against the seat, biting the inside of my cheek so hard it hurt.
Unbelievable.
Her book man was keeping sex tapes… great. And she highlighted it.
Was she learning?
Taking notes?
Practising in her head?!
Her nails tapped the edge of the Kindle, the softest click each time she changed the page. I tried to count them, tried to breathe through the chaos in my chest.
I shifted because there was no way I could sit still anymore. Every breath I took felt too loud, too heavy. I could feel the pulse in my throat.
Does she even know what she’s reading?
Does she even understand it?
Because if she does, then she’s a lot less innocent than she looks.
And if she doesn’t…
God help me, because that makes it worse.
She was highlighting things she didn’t even realise would ruin a man like me.
She stopped turning the pages. Paused. Stared too long at the same sentence.
He hesitated, hands hovering over the send button.
“He shouldn’t send it,” I muttered under my breath. The second the words left me, her whole body tensed. Her fingers froze mid-scroll. I felt her back stiffen against my chest like I’d just poured ice water down her spine.
Oh, she heard me.
Slowly, her head tilted just enough that I could see her eyes flicker to me in the reflection of her Kindle screen.
Caught.
The realisation hit her face like thunder. Her lips parted, breath hitching. Her hands fumbled as if she wanted to exit the page, throw the Kindle out the window, and maybe jump after it.
And God, it was adorable.
Her panic. Her tiny, mortified tremor as she hugged the device closer to her chest. I bit back a smirk, dragging my gaze back to the window to hide it, but not fast enough because she saw. I knew she saw.
“You forgot to highlight that part,” I murmured, half-teasing, half-dying inside. “I think it’s important.”
She turned away so fast her hair brushed my jaw, and I felt her whole body burn against mine.
Poor girl.
She probably thinks I’m disgusted.
I’m not.
I’m entertained.
And painfully, pathetically, interested.
