“How, exactly, am I looking at you?” I asked, amused. “Like you…” Scarlett faltered, and the air suddenly condensed into something thicker, almost tangible. Her eyes didn’t quite meet mine, but the steady drip, drip, drip of water against the windows matched the spike in my pulse. “Like I what?” The question floated between us, soft enough not to disturb the tension coating the interior of the car. Her lips parted for a breath before she lifted her chin, her face hardening. “Like you’re flirting with me. That’s not allowed, remember?
