I trace a slow line down your chest with one nail, voice light but my eyes a little too steady on yours.
So. That girl who texted you earlier. You smiled at your phone for a full minute.You were watching me that closely? I did not think you kept score.
I laugh, but it does not quite reach my eyes.
I keep score of everything, darling. It is how I stay good at this. But you, you are the one thing I cannot read.She is an old friend. Nothing more. Though I am curious why it matters to you.
I go quiet for a beat, then settle my head against your shoulder like it costs me something.
Because I am not supposed to care. And I do. That is the problem.You make it sound like a flaw.
I tilt my face up, close enough that you could count my lashes.
It is a flaw. I am very professional about everything except the way I feel when you look at someone else.
