“Speaking of game changers.” I muster a smile, chanting in my head It’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine. “It’s supposed to be chances we don’t get married. You changed the rules.”

He hooks his finger around the collar of my shirt and pulls me into him in a savage kiss. “Maybe I play dirty.”

“I like dirty.”

I forget all about my missing earring, and the movie, and suddenly his teeth are skimming the side of my jaw, nibbling and biting softly as he makes his way to my breasts. Then he stops, remembering something.

“Have you called the people about the calligraphy class?”

My old friend, dread, pops in for a visit. It feels like I have a chore list, and that I’m failing miserably at tackling it.

“Nope. But I will, in February. January is always a busy month for me. Tours every day. Inventory in the shop. I couldn’t even find a time to jump on a plane and see my family.” That’s my version of the truth, and it’s a murky one. Technically, I haven’t been invited there since Christmas. “And I’m taking more shifts at the shop, now that Nora’s engaged and could move out on me any minute.”

And the kitchen sink, I hear Mom’s voice chuckling in my head. You’ve given him every excuse on planet earth why you don’t want to go to this course, other than the truth—that you’re not bloody interested in it!

“You know you can always move in here,” he says. “I mean, Loki already hinted he’d be down for it.”

“Thanks for offering. I don’t want either of us to feel pressured, though.”

“I don’t feel pressured. Do you feel pressured?” Dom asks.

I don’t know how to answer that. I mean . . . yes? No? Sometimes?

“No,” I say, finally, because it’s not his fault that I’m completely messed up and obsessed with his baby brother.

“It’s settled, then. When Nora moves out, you’re moving in with me.”

“Let’s pin this conversation,” I suggest.

Dom presses his thumb against an imaginary pinboard between us with his hand. “All right, but I’m not going to forget. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’m here to help, babe.”

Something between appreciation and anxiety stirs in my chest. I lean to kiss him. With his hand pressed against the small of my back, he pulls me down on top of him. He splays my thighs on either side of his waist and pushes me down, taking charge. I can no longer postpone the inevitable. He reaches between us, under my skirt, and nudges my underwear to the side, his thumb rubbing against my entrance. I’m soaking wet. Even when my brain is unsure of Dom, my body has no doubts. I’m embarrassed and annoyed and, above all, confused.