They’re still closed a few seconds later when Nolan returns from the kitchen and, instead of taking a free seat, lifts one leg and slides between me and the back of my chair. I nearly gasp. He takes up a lot of room, always, and this isn’t going to work. I’m going to fall over. Or I’ll be fine, here in his lap. The hand that’s not busy adjusting the black pieces to the center of their squares casually rests against my abdomen, spanning its width.
Mmmmmjhgffsfghmm
