Spencer was respected. He had graduated college at 12, earned three PhDs and three BAs by the time he was 20, and joined the FBI at 22.

A genius who never lost his composure.

Well… almost never.

When it came to certain things, it was surprisingly easy to rattle him. Even the lightest, absent-minded touch could send him spiraling into distraction.

Which is exactly what was happening right now.

You were on the couch together at his place, him half-leaning against you, slowly sliding lower into the cushions as the movie played. Your hand rested casually at his waist, thumb brushing over the sharp curve of his hip bone again and again.

He pressed more of his weight into you, jaw tight, clearly trying to keep his focus on the screen and not on the tiny motion that was undoing him.

By the time the credits rolled, you spoke first.

“Pretty great movie, huh?”

He nodded quickly—too quickly—and seemed ready to launch into a full lecture on every plot point just to mask how off-balance he felt.