My fingertips brush something lacey at the top of her thigh. I glance down at my hand and rub my thumb back and forth, considering. When I flip up the edge of her skirt to take a look, she laughs at whatever dumbstruck expression paints itself across my face. Thigh highs. She’s wearing thigh highs. I pull my hand back from her thigh and drop it to safer territory down by her ankle, letting my forehead fall against her knee. I rock my head there, back and forth, and try to get control of myself. “I need a minute,” I mumble. “Take several minutes. I didn’t mean to send you into a tailspin.” She
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