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Clint exhales, almost a laugh.

“Because you didn’t leave.”

I stare at the screen.

“I don’t know,” he adds. “The room cleared out, and I saw your name still there, and I just—” He shrugs with one shoulder. “Clicked it.”

Bentley84: I’m your chat test dummy?

Clint smiles.

“Wanna be?”

Bentley84: If you want me to be.

He reads that, and something in his face changes. The ring light softens the edges. He looks flushed, tired, beautiful, and too close.

“Was the show good for you too?” he asks.

The blush comes fast, absurd after everything.

His voice in my dark room, asking what his body did to mine.

Bentley84: Yes.

Too small. Clint reads it and lets out a quiet breath.

“Good.”

He’s learned the power of one-word answers. Or I’ve taught it to him by responding so badly every time.

Bentley84: You know what you’re doing.

His smile goes crooked.

“I should hope so. Been practicing since I was twelve.”

Bentley84: Lucky fingers.

He looks away from the camera for a second.

“Careful,” he says. “That sounded naughty.”

I sit very still. I type slowly.

Bentley84: You’re hot. It makes men naughty.

The words look blunt. Insufficient.

I send them anyway.

Clint laughs, soft and pleased.

“Wow. Look at us with our honesty.”

Bentley84: Don’t get used to it.

“Too late.”