Do Your Worst

by Rosie Danan

“It’s called brooding,” Clark said, standing up a little straighter, “and no one complained when Darcy did it.” “Yeah, well”—she gave him a look just shy of a leer—“that’s because Colin Firth had the decency to get his shirt wet.” “I’m waiting to be asked,” he said reflexively, forgetting they weren’t allowed to flirt the way they had that first night at the pub.

With most people, the more he got to know them, the less he found them intimidating. Riley wasn’t like that.