He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, his gaze drops to my lips as he rakes his teeth over his own. I really wish he’d stop doing that; it makes my head feel all funny. In a bid to look at anything but the delicious curve of his cupid’s bow, I glance down at the cigarette glowing faintly in his right hand. He must have noticed, because he brings it up into the small space between us, and twists it around so the filter is facing me.
