Re: At the tables: Cat and Graves
The touch? Stilled her. Here was the thing, and something she'd learned in this new body: People didn't touch men in the way they touched women. Men didn't feel entitled to touch men in the same way they touched women. Touches were shoulder taps and knock the rock, and it wasn't this. So, Cat? Stilled. This guy knew Reece, and he knew her name, and only the inhuman depths of his eyes kept her from shoving the chair back in a clatter. "No ill-will, huh? Alright. Who's your friend, then?" she demanded, and she pushed back on the touch to her elbow, taking back the moment. Gone was the stillness, and bravado was reasserting itself on her features. Her hands were on the arm of the chair, and her fingers clutched there. "Well?"