Page 108 of Glitched Play

The man who notices when I switch mugs.

The man who quietly keeps everyone's favorite snacks stocked without ever mentioning it.

The man who gave me an opportunity to work with something I love.

"You've gone quiet," he murmurs.

"I'm thinking."

"I noticed."

I think he means I’m gawking. How could I not?

"Am I that predictable?"

"No." His forehead rests lightly against mine. "You've become familiar."

I close my eyes. "I like the sound of that."

"So do I."

His lips find mine for the second time tonight, and this one isn’t tentative the way the first one was. It isn’t rushed either. I don’t know who initiated it, maybe both of us.

Kissing Witt feels like a conversation we've been trying to have for weeks, spoken in a language neither of us knew until now. Every gentle touch, every lingering moment, every quiet breath says something words never quite could.

The entire world narrows to heat, breath, and the desperate press of his hands at my waist.

It’s just us.

His hands skate under my pajama shirt and I’m keenly aware that I’m getting ready to have sex with Witt wearing my gaming pajamas. Only me. Only Witt would find it appealing.

“May I?” he asks, gripping the hem of my shirt.

Evidently I can’t speak, so I lift my chin to look at his eyes. His pupils are blown, his lids are hooded as he brings my shirt over my head.

Witt drinks me in like he’s looking at a new game in beta mode, ready to devour it.

Then, almost automatically, my thoughts turn inward.

I become aware of the softness I've spent years trying to disguise. The curves I learned to hide beneath loose sweaters and carefully chosen fabrics. Standing beside Witt has never made me feel small, but suddenly I wonder if he notices every place where I'm not sleek or perfectly put together.

I lower my eyes.

Immediately, his fingers slip gently beneath my chin. "I’ve never said this in my life. Look at me."

"I am."

"No." His thumb brushes softly along my cheek. "You're looking at yourself."

The words steal the air from my lungs.

"I know that look," he says and I catch the quick shift in his expression.

"You do?"

"I've seen it every time you’re given a compliment."

I swallow.