Marlowe
King caught himself leaning in close enough to catch my scent twice in one afternoon, and both times he pulled back fast enough that I almost missed it — almost, except I'd started noticing things about him lately that I probably shouldn't have been paying attention to at all.
"You keep doing that," I said, the second time.
"Doing what."
"That thing. Where you get close and then act like you didn't mean to."
"Don't know what you're talking about." He said it too fast, jaw tight, already turning back toward the paperwork on his desk, and I let it drop because pushing felt like poking at something neither of us had a name for yet.
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Founders' Night arrived two days later — an annual formal gathering the whole club took seriously enough that even Cricket showed up in an actua
