This close, I could see all the small details of him I usually only registered from a polite distance …the faint line between his brows, the particular dark of his eyes in the dim hallway light, the way his chest rose and fell just slightly faster than it should have for a man standing still.
He looked at me the exact same way he'd been looking at me all afternoon, steady and deliberate and barely contained, like something behind his composure had been straining against a leash for hours and had finally run out of slack.
"You should go get your jacket," he said.
Low. Quiet. Not a suggestion so much as an instruction he clearly didn't want to be giving.
"I know," I said. I didn't move.
He looked at me for a long moment that stretched well past comfortable. His eyes dropped to my mouth
