I grab my suit jacket from the back of the chair and drape it across my lap, the heavy fabric a flimsy shield for my undeniable want.
The silence from behind the dressing screen is a palpable thing, thick with her unknowing presence and my own roaring hunger.
The rustle of fabric signals her movement. A moment later, she emerges. "I am almost done."
Her voice is a casual, offhand remark, but it slices through me. My own is a rasp, rough and unfamiliar. "Take your time."
She moves to her discarded training gear, beginning to pack it into her leather bag. She glances over, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"
I clear my throat, the sound grating. "Yeah." It's a lie so transparent a child would see through it.
She pauses, her hands stilling on the strap of her bag. Her eyes, a beautiful shade of brown, sweep over me.
