I hated the way he was staring at me.
His gaze was direct, too much, loaded with several things I couldn't properly name and didn't want to look at long enough to find one.
There was longing in it. Desire. And underneath both of those, something that went deeper still. It was the kind of look that said things his mouth hadn't, and I resented it for that reason. Because it was easier when he said nothing. When he was unreadable, sealed-off, the version of himself I could never understand. When he was like this, that was impossible.
He looked at me like he wanted to close the distance between us. Like holding me in his arms would mean something. Like last night had meant something. Like I meant something to him, enough for him to look at me this way in front of Evelyn, with her arm looped through his and her smile still warm from a day he'd chosen to spend with her.
