“First, I hold your hand. Then I touch your back.” His right arm curves around Whisper’s side, and a broad, warm palm presses between Whisper’s shoulder blades, slides down. Rests in the small of Whisper’s back, radiating heat. Left palm resting against Julien’s shoulder, Whisper leans in with the faint pressure. He’s never been this warm in his life. “And then?” “Then I get to look into your eyes for the next two hours,” Julien says. “Simple, right?”
