His gaze is different than the one Sol Bordeaux gave me at Masque last night and the one I imagined in my drug-induced dream. Sol’s intensity made my core throb, my breath freeze in my chest, and need overwhelm my skin in an explosion of goose bumps. Rand’s feels… odd? I can’t quite explain it. It’s not unwelcome I guess, but it’s certainly not giving me the same intoxicating desire that I felt last night. His elbows are propped on the wobbly white table, and his chin rests on thick, interlaced fingers. I study them, remembering featherlight touches by a completely different set of fingers
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