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He settles back in the chair, one hand loose around a water bottle. The private-show frame holds him close.

“I think I’m getting better at this,” he says.

Bentley84: You are.

“That was fast.”

Bentley84: It’s true.

He studies the message.

“Better how?”

My fingers hover over the keys.

There is a safe answer. Several safe answers. Timing. Confidence. Camera angles. Things a viewer might say. Things Bentley can say without exposing the hunger behind them.

Bentley84: You seem more comfortable deciding what the room can have.

His expression settles. Not smiling now, just reading.

“That a nice way of saying I’m bossy?”

Bentley84: It’s a nice way of saying you’re in control.

“Am I?”

My pulse shifts.

Bentley84: Maybe more than you think.

Clint’s eyes move over the words, then back up.

My breath catches.

There’s the test. The flirtation. The hand extended through the only opening we have allowed ourselves.

Bentley84: I think you know exactly what you’re doing to me.

He goes still. I expect him to joke it away. For one of us to finally deflect.

“Yeah?” he asks.

How can he be so big yet look so uncertain right now?

Bentley84: Yes.

He breathes out.

“Good.”

For a moment, neither of us does anything. The silence feels occupied by what’s already been said, and by what we’re not saying.

I know my secret. What is his?

Clint shifts to a smile.

“So what’s the official Bentley review?” he asks. “Additions? Subtractions? Notes from management?”