Chapter 41
I couldn't help but notice how Carl was looking so smart. Too smart, really.
It distracted me for a second—just enough to dull the crawling sensation under my skin. He looked hot in his uniform, tailored perfection from collar to boots. The way the straps crossed his chest, the authority in his stance, the edge in his jawline as he gave orders—it was all too much.
Even his silence was hot. His anger, hotter. I could've kissed him just to feel the tension snap between us. But I stayed in my lane. He was clearly pissed at me, and this wasn't the time to bridge emotional gaps with impulsive affection.
And there it was again—the itch.
My back. My wrists. My thighs. The heat crawled like fire ants beneath my skin. I clenched my jaw, trying not to move, trying not to claw at myself like a lunatic.
"Why are you both late?" Carl's voice sliced through the ambient buzz of engines and shouted orders, sharp as a blade drawn in daylight.
