And stay there.
Everything in me goes still.
It is not the quick, careful look from before. Not the one that checks for bruises or fear and then moves away before it can mean anything.
This one is different.
His gaze drags down from my face to the shirt.
To my bare legs.
Then back up.
Slow.
Heavy.
The room changes around it.
All the safe little lies I built in the bathroom go up in smoke.
Oh.
Oh, he does.
Heat rushes through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
His jaw shifts once.
Something dark moves across his face. Gone fast. Not fast enough.
I stop in the middle of the room, suddenly aware of every inch of skin the shirt leaves bare.
The silence stretches.
His voice, when it comes, is lower than before.
“Pants didn’t work?”
I shake my head because I do not trust my voice.
His gaze drops once more, brief this time, like he is forcing it not to linger.
“Good,” he says.
The word lands in me like a match to dry paper.
My breath catches.
His eyes lift back to mine, and there is no mistaking it now. No pretending I imagined that look. Want sits there plain as day, leashed tight but real enough to make my knees feel weak.
I wet my lips.
Bad idea.
His eyes flick down to my mouth.
Worse idea.
