I pretended to be ashamed, rubbing the back of my neck and looking down at the blanket like it had personally betrayed me.
"I… I'm sorry… Samantha… I didn't mean it…"
My voice came out low, shaky—perfectly pitched to sound like a guilty, embarrassed man who'd just been caught with an erection in front of the hotel maid.
Samantha's eyes flicked down—then snapped back up to my face. For a split second, her expression flickered: something sharp, knowing, almost amused.
Then she rolled her eyes—subtle, but unmistakable—and the motion was so casual it almost looked involuntary.
Her thoughts rang clear in my head the moment I brushed against her mind with telepathy.
