Zoey didn’t even look away from the screen. She reclaimed the ice cream tub from between us and dug her spoon in with unnecessary force. I watched her wrist flex as she scooped, the motion controlled, the tendons in her hand shifting beneath her skin.
She held the spoon out toward me without looking away from the screen.
“Try this section. Heavy on the chocolate.”
I leaned forward, telling myself I didn’t need to be hyperaware of our proximity. I didn’t need to register the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine or the faint scent of mint and sugar and her shampoo.
My thumb brushed her knuckle as I took the spoon from her.
Her breathing changed slightly. The average human wouldn’t have picked up on it, but my shifter senses did.
Neither of us commented on it.
The host on screen demanded accountability. The man grew louder.
“Why is he still talking?” I asked.
Zoey snorted. “Because no one has told him to stop.”
“I would have.”
She turned her head slowly toward me, questioning. “Would you?”
“Yes.”
“You’d be very calm about it.”
“Yes.”
“And terrifying.”
I shrugged. “Possibly.”
She smiled then, and it was the most open smile she’d directed at me yet. It landed somewhere low and immediate inside me.
Dragging her thumb along the rim of the tub, she caught a streak of melted ice cream. Absently, she brought her thumb to her mouth and licked it clean.
I swallowed hard. She caught me looking.
“What?”
“You missed a spot,” I said evenly.
Her gaze sharpened instantly. “I did?”
“Yes.”
She held my gaze and dragged her thumb slowly along the corner of her mouth, deliberate now.
I kept my posture relaxed. It required effort I didn’t let onto.
“Better,” I said.
Her smile changed.
From his perch, Markie screeched, “WEIRDO!”
Zoey didn’t break eye contact. “He’s stressed,” she said lightly.
