I came to where he was, just inches away. We were so close I felt his heat, I wanted to wrap my arms around him, envelop him with my body, but I knew there was more I needed to say. I whispered into the space between us. “I’m sorry,” I said as I ran my thumb over his lips. They were perfect, red and fleshy.

Easton swallowed hard and I could almost see his pulse racing. There it was again, that pull. In so many ways I felt like with Easton and I, words sometimes were unnecessary. I bent my head and he lifted up to meet me. He clasped both hands behind my neck and kissed me like his life depended on it.

But after a few seconds he shook his head and pulled back just as I was making my way down his neck.

“No.” He just had to say it once, and I stepped back, wondering what had happened.

When I saw him, with his bruised lips and mussed hair, I had to fist my hands to keep from grabbing him again.

His chest was heaving, but when he spoke his tone brooked no argument. “Nope. We are not doing this again.”

He waved a finger between us. “This is our problem, as soon as we’re together we end up fucking.” He held up a hand, those whiskey and moss eyes thunderous. “We’re going to act like whatever is happening here is worth working on. We clearly can’t stay away from each other, so let’s start acting like we mean it.” The exasperation in his voice—there was something else there. Determination.

Easton was done letting me run the show, and seeing him calling the shots was fucking sexy. “We’re talking about important things happening in our lives right now, and trying to understand each other. You say you want my friendship, then that means actually getting to know me. This hot and cold shit ends now.”

He looked mad salty and I wanted to wreck him. This Easton was somehow even more irresistible.

I felt my body relaxing and the intensity of the evening, of the whole weekend started to diffuse a little. I smiled at him then. “All right, counselor, so you’re feeling some type of way. I hear that,” I said as I grabbed the big tubs of broth. “Why don’t I warm up this food for us.” I waved a hand around his kitchen. “I think I can figure out where to find stuff. You go relax and we can talk while we eat.”

He looked genuinely bemused by my sudden surge of domesticity, but he didn’t argue, just nodded and went back to the couch. I fussed around the kitchen for a few minutes while he put away his papers, and sipped from his wineglass.