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I watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the thick cord of muscle straining against a work-shirt that had seen better decades.
I watched your throat work as you swallowed that lie, the tendon jumping under your skin like a trapped bird.
I wasn't looking for the safe, not yet; I was looking for the specific way he held his champagne flute, like he was weighing a weapon.
He looked at me with the kind of focused intensity I usually reserved for fact-checking a deputy mayor’s expense report.
The humidity was a character we couldn't kill off, a thick, persistent weight that made the silk of her dress cling to her back.
She didn't just sit; she occupied the space like a challenge, her drink sweat-beaded and untouched while she dismantled my defenses.
!["I've Been Wondering if You Still Had That Smart Mouth"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i've-been-wondering-if-you-still-had-that-smart-mouth"-409-cover-1782259256748.jpg)
She leaned back against the mahogany bar, the condensation from her gin and tonic dripping onto a wrist that hadn't aged a day.
The lace of your mask was digging into your temple, a minor penance for the way you were looking at my throat.