Hold her gaze.
Let the silence stretch.
She shifts. Her head tilts. She can't keep my gaze. Her eyes flick - just once to my mouth before she realises and snaps them back up.
I exhale slowly.
"See?" I say.
"See what?" she asks, defensive now.
"You're already doing it."
Her brows knit. "Doing what?"
"Flirting."
"That's not flirting."
"Yes, it is."
I push off the desk just enough to close a fraction of the distance.
"Flirting isn't confidence," I say calmly. "It's attention. It's letting someone feel seen."
"You hold eye contact when you're interested in what someone's saying," I continue. "You lean in without noticing. You go still when you're listening."
She blinks. "You've been watching me?"
I shrug. "It's hard not to notice these things."
Her blush deepens. I feel a stupid, selfish thrill.
"Flirting," I add, voice lower now, "is foreplay."
That one lands.
She swallows.
"You do it long before anything physical," I go on. "Before a hand ever moves. Before a mouth ever opens."
Her knees pull closer to her chest.
"Eye contact," I continue. "A second too long. Looking away first. Then coming back."
I demonstrate - deliberately breaking her gaze, then finding it again.
My eyes betray me, flicking to her lips.
I force them back up.
Her lips part anyway.
I accidentally look back at them and inwardly curse, forcing my eyes to hers instead and keeping them there. Her eyes move to my lips, then my eyes then back to my lips.
I swallow the hard lump in my throat and force my eyes away from her altogether, before I do something I'll regret. When I look back at her, she's staring at the ground.
"You're good at this," I say. "You just don't trust it."
