Page 77 of Face Off

“You actively search for me?”

“Sometimes.” Charm met my stare without embarrassment. “Your interviews remain terrible.”

“I answer every question.”

“You look like you’re waiting for permission to leave.”

“I usually am.”

“One reporter asked about your pregame ritual, and you said getting dressed.”

“That happens before every game.”

“She wanted something interesting.”

“I refuse to lie to the press.”

“You’ve developed strong journalistic ethics.”

“I’m complicated and poorly supervised.”

Charm laughed, and the sound followed me through the next course.

I admitted I’d looked at her boutique page too. I didn’t tell her how often I searched photographs for her hands before allowing myself to look at her face, or that I’d enlarged images like a fucking stalker to reassure myself that she wasn’t disappearing again.

“You started designing for bodies besides your own,” I said.

“I started understanding that clothing should fit the person instead of punishing them for failing to fit the clothing.”

My gaze moved over the dress again. “That explains this.”

“What about it?”

“It fits the person.”

Charm glanced down at herself before looking at me. “You’ve already given your review.”

“I’m reconsidering the wording.”

“Oh?”

“Fine as fuck lacked specificity.”

Her laugh broke free loudly enough that Bliss looked over. Charm covered her mouth with one hand, but she didn’t retreat from the attention. She remained beside me, glowing beneath candlelight while every person who knew our history watched her allow me to want her.

That was new.

The Charm I’d loved would’ve lowered her voice, created distance, or found a reason to make the interaction look harmless.

This Charm rested her hand on my thigh beneath the table.

My body tightened instantly.

“You’re creating another operational error,” I warned.

“I’m sitting.”

“You’re touching me.”