He reaches for his cigarettes. Smacking the bottom of the pack before pulling one out with his teeth. Jesus. “Here,” I toss him the lighter. I watch as his tattooed fingers nimbly light the cigarette to life. He sucks in a long drag before tilting his head back to blow out a cloud of smoke. “You’re starin’,” he mumbles. I huff out a laugh and run a hand over the back of my neck. “Busted.” He chuckles, and it’s this deep, wicked thing. Yep. Definitely knows what he’s doing. Dick.
