You’re late for a lecture. All seats are occupied. Jack is in the front row, with his backpack on his lap. He stares at you, then moves the backpack slowly.

You frown.

“No.”

“Will you prefer to sit on the floor?”

You sigh and sit on his lap. The tension is palpable. His heat. The firm arm around your waist, trying not to look too protective.

You lean over to whisper:

“Are you having fun with this?”

He smiles, without looking at you.

“Absolutely.”