Page 85 of Glitched Play

I blink. “Casual?”

“Some users want connection without intensity.” He says looking right past my ear.

I stare at him for a second longer than necessary.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“That’s inaccurate.”

A smile pulls at my mouth. “I just like when you prove my point for me.”

“I wasn’t proving your point.”

“You literally said users want connection.”

His jaw shifts. “I said some users want connection.”

“So you agree.”

“I agreed with one variable.”

“One very emotionally intelligent variable.”

He looks at me then, not fully in the eyes, but close enough that my stomach does the annoying little flip it now does whenever Witt gives me more than half a second of focused attention.

“Don’t make it weird,” he says.

I laugh. “Too late.”

The office door flies open without a knock.

Witt closes his eyes.

I don’t even have to turn around to know an O’Ryan has arrived.

“Pizza night,” Parker announces.

Witt opens his eyes. “No.”

“It wasn’t a question,” Parker states matter-of-factly.

“It sounded like one.”

“That’s because I was being polite for Maci’s sake.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Parker leaning in the doorway, sweaty from summer practice, hair damp, Armadillos shirt clinging to his chest like he jogged here straight from the field. He flashes me a grin.

“Hey, Maci.”

“Hey.”

His gaze flicks between me and Witt, and the grin immediately turns dangerous. “Working late?”

“It’s four,” Witt says.

“That’s quitting time on a Friday. And historically, I’ve never seen someone in your office going over… whatever it is with the door closed.”