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Jess takes a final drag and maybe she performs a little, because she wants to see what’ll happen: maybe she licks her lips before, maybe she leans so the jut of her collarbone stands out underneath her shirt, maybe she makes a point to catch García’s eye when she inhales, when the smoke pulls into her chest, when she hitches her breath to keep it there.
Because García is watching, she has Jess pinned with her eyes, and this is probably a goddamn catastrophe of an idea (come on, don’t shit where you eat, McCready) but something about it feels alive to Jess, feels jittery and itchy like the buzz of a radio, like a snakebite under her skin. It feels right when the whole fucking day has felt wrong.
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Bookmarked by shivre
12 Dec 2022