That wicked pretty moment occurred just now. Two strangers, watching, eyes parting, shifting back. Yes strangers but they’re not unfamiliar. His eyes seem almost black but oh my god, he’s scared. She watches back. Watches. Watches.

Those black eyes are no accident. There’s no chance in them. They’re alive on her face. Her neck and pretty parted lips. Alive on the curve he wishes he couldn’t see of her breasts.

The fear erupts and is first a creek across his eyes. Then a river. She’s breathing. God she’s breathing. I know she’s breathing, he thinks and sighs a little before looking down. Then his eyes goes down. He means to not smile. Knows she can’t