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Me: The elevator.

Dalton: What part?

Me: When you lifted me.

His answer comes after a pause.

Dalton: I think about that.

My breath catches.

Me: You do?

Dalton: Yes.

Me: When?

Dalton: More often than I should.

I roll onto my side, pressing the phone closer, as if that somehow brings him nearer.

Me: That is not helping me sleep.

Dalton: I’m not trying to help you sleep.

Oh.

My stomach flips.

Me: What are you trying to do?

Dalton: Decide how much truth you can handle tonight.

I go very still.

That’s unfair.

That is very unfair.

Me: Try me.

The dots appear.

Then: I think about your mouth when you were trying to stay quiet.

My lips part. I remember that. I remember biting down on sound, remember his hand on my hip, remember him noticing every little slip like my body was giving him answers.

Me: I wasn’t very good at it.

Dalton: No.

Me: Rude.

Dalton: I liked it.

A pulse of heat moves through me, low and immediate.

I shift under the blanket.