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Summary
Their knees stayed pressed together, denim against denim, the small point of contact hotter than it had any right to be. Robin could taste the ghost of Coke every time Nancy breathed out, sweet and chemical and close enough that she could almost feel it on her own lips.
She hadn’t moved her hand from where it rested on the floor, palm up, fingers half curled. Nancy’s little finger had settled against hers sometime in the last minute, barely there, like an accident that neither of them had fixed.
Robin swallowed, but words climbed up her throat before she could think better of them, “I understand why all the boys in this city are crazy about you now.”