wonder if she feels the way she gives in to me, vertebra by vertebra, breath by breath. It’s like she’s calculating each degree she relaxes against me, slowly, and I relish it. Temporarily. Then I step away and she catches herself. “Dickhead,” she mutters. “As a reminder,” I point out, “you could have me if you wanted.” She lifts a brow. “Aren’t there some kind of Neanderthal sportzboi rules about admitting things like that?” “Probably.” I tip her chin up and mirror the face she makes, a little scrunched-up look of irritation. “Cute.”
