Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m about to do.
I glance between them. Then back to him.
“Is there room for me?” I ask.
Polite. Casual. Intentional.
Isa’s fingers tighten slightly on his arm.
But she doesn’t move them.
“Sure,” she replies sweetly.
I don’t wait.
I pull out the chair and sit.
Close.
Not accidental.
My knee brushes his.
Then my foot slides forward.
Light.
Intentional.
Touches his.
Still.
His entire body reacts.
Subtle.
But I feel it.
“What the—” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t acknowledge it.
Just pick up a book from the table like I belong here.
“So,” I say, flipping a page, “what are we working on?”
“History,” Isa answers smoothly before he can.
Her tone is light.
But her eyes?
Watching me.
Carefully.
I nod slowly.
