Effy curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. His skin, underneath, was warm, and she could feel his muscles flexing. “How many skinned knees have you treated in your career as an academic?” “I have to say you’re my first.” She laughed, almost in spite of herself. “You’re very strange, Preston Héloury.” “You’re the one who jumped out of a moving car, Effy Sayre.” “It’s only because I wasn’t wearing my seat belt,” she replied. It was the second time she’d heard him laugh, and Effy remembered how much she liked the sound of it: low and breathy, his shoulder shaking just slightly under
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Honestly, the few conversations they've had with laughs out loud weren't funny enough for that response. The author's attempts to lighten their interactions just doesn't feel like organic chemistry to me, but forced.
