Main lecture of the conference. You arrive late, and the room is full. Adam is sitting alone, with a briefcase on the chair next to him.

You whisper, embarrassed:

“Can I...?”

He looks around. The room is stamed. No free chair.

He raises his eyebrow.

“You can take my briefcase.”

But before you get it, an elderly man takes the chair.

You look at Adam again. He sighs.

“Come soon, before it starts.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I won’t repeat it.” He gives a light pat on the thigh.

You bedd.

“You’re kidding.”

Adam crosses his arms.

“Do you want to stand up the whole lecture?”

You, muttering internal swear words, sit carefully on his lap, tense like a titanium bar. But he remains motionless, a hand discreetly resting on his waist.

In the middle of the lecture, he leans over and whispers in your ear:

“Relax. I don’t bite.”

You turn your face, your eyes almost sticking to his.

“You bite with words. That’s worse.”

He smiles.

“Only when you deserve it.”