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He’s always so aware of her.
Chrissy stumbles in the hallway, unsoiled-white sneaker catching onto nothing, and Eddie doesn’t even have time to think before he thrusts his arm out, her chest—her chest, her chest, her chest—colliding into it. He’s just touched Chrissy Cunningham for the first time in his life.
It doesn’t last, clearly. No, dickhead-Carver tugs at her to get her away from him.
“Don’t you touch her,” Carver hisses, and Eddie lifts his hands in mock-defeat.
“Thank you,” Chrissy whispers when he passes her, so quietly that her boyfriend won’t hear. Eddie smiles to himself.