His dark eyes lock with mine, fingertips tracing across my upper arm, and heat rises in my cheeks. “So, would you say your stress levels are doin’ okay this week, then? No trouble sleeping?” I work my lower lip between my teeth, craving another quick fix. “I, uh, think I might have a little trouble, actually. Tonight?” His lips curl into a smirk. “Hm, and I might have a remedy.” “Nine o’clock, Becker. Don’t be late.” He leans in close, breath hot against my ear. “Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it.”
