Her throat moves when she swallows, and the little flash of tension in her posture tells me my stare lands where I want it to.
Her hands are tucked into her sleeves like she’s trying to hide them. Like she’s trying to hide something else, too.
I don’t trust calm on her.
I hear her shift. A soft inhale, sharp like she’s swallowing a nerve.
“Hey,” she says.
I tilt my head just enough. “Hey.”
Her eyes flick up, then away, like she’s pretending she’s not staring at my face to see if I’m in a mood. She’s gotten good at reading mine, which is a problem I haven’t decided how to solve yet. I take one slow step toward her. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she has to decide whether she’s going to back up.
She doesn’t.
Her voice comes up casual, too casual—“That laptop that fell in your office.”
The words slide into my chest sharp.
I keep my expression flat. “What about it?”
Her shoulders lift in a shrug that’s rehearsed. “Is it broken?”
A normal question. A small question. A nothing question.
But her voice is too careful.
I move again—quiet, deliberate—until she’s within my space. Until the wind that’s been between us isn’t there anymore.
I don’t grab her. I don’t need to.
I angle my body around hers like I’m circling prey that already belongs to me, and her chin lifts a fraction on instinct, throat exposed like she’s bracing for impact.
I meet her eyes, letting her feel my attention land. “Do you need a laptop?”
Her eyes flash. “No.”
“Then why are you asking about mine?”
Her mouth opens like she’s about to bite back, then she catches herself. A pause. A fraction too long.
I watch it. Store it. Pin it to the wall inside my head.
I lean in, my nose skims along the line of her jaw, slow, possessive. I breathe her in like I’m taking inventory. Like her scent is proof of ownership.
Her breath catches anyway. Betrays her.
My mouth brushes her ear when I speak, voice low enough to be private, sharp enough to be a warning.
“Why are you lying to me?”
She stiffens, then snaps like she’s offended. Like she’s not the one who just circled something sharp.
“Why are you asking me extra questions?” she says. “Get back to your usual banter.”
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Hungry.
