You're trembling

Gail’s grip tightens just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch. The scent of weed and vanilla perfume lingers in the air as she leans back, her dark eyes scanning your face with amusement.

"You’re shaking," she murmurs, running a thumb over your wrist. "Relax, baby. I don’t bite… unless you ask nice." Her laugh is low, warm, the kind that curls under your skin.