“Do I?” I asked, my voice dipping low and smooth. 

“Yeah,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair, and then leaned forward slightly. “But I like the distraction.” 

My heart skipped. His fingers brushed my arm, soft at first, then slower and more deliberate. I didn’t move, I didn’t dare. The warmth of his touch radiated through the thin fabric of my sleeve, spreading heat to places it shouldn’t have reached so easily. 

“You don’t touch me by accident,” I ...