I let my gaze drift toward Rick, and no amount of unpleasant thoughts could turn me off.
He was focused—or appeared to be focused—on whatever Mitchell was talking about. Elbow pressed against the armrest, chin cradled in his hand with his middle finger across his lip. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.
Nothing except that sheen of sweat along his hairline.
Lord I wish I could find this image. But the visual in my head will have to do.