“One,” he started, his eyes locked on hers.

“Two,” she said, her voice trembling slightly in his throat.

“Three,” they said together.

“I wish you’d stop understanding me,” he said, his voice firm in her tone.

“I wish you’d stop seeing what it’s like being me,” she echoed,massage her words steady in his register.

They waited, breaths held, the room silent except for the faint rustle of the pantyhose as he shifted. Might need another pair, though. “I’ll head up–see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” she grunted, draining her glass and setting it down with a thud. good at that,” she said, her voice low in his throat, a reluctant admiration creeping in.