“A hot cup of coffee is exactly what I need, please.”

“Flavor of the day is blueberry.”

“Just regular, please.” She nods and turns to Cody.

“Black for me.” The waitress blushes at Cody’s response, as if he’s just hit on her by ordering coffee.

“Not sleeping well?” he asks when she slips off.

I shake my head no, although that’s not quite true. I’m sleeping better now than I was at his place. It seems unnecessary to tell him that, though.

“You could always come back,” Cody says and the guilt weighs down on me at the offer. When did the tables turn between us? With him pining for me while I keep my distance?

The truth nearly slips out from between my lips as my heart aches inside my chest, moaning something to my lungs about how much we need him. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to him. That’s the one truth that hasn’t faltered. That and the fact that I’m certain something bad is going to happen.

When you play with fire, you’re bound to be burned. I refuse to let him be a bystander in the wreckage I’m headed toward. Thankfully I don’t have to answer, since the waitress is back in no time with our coffee.

We’re quiet, neither of us speaking until she asks us if there’s anything we’d like to eat.

“Cinnamon buns,” we answer simultaneously. The smile I wear on my face at that is a sad one and Cody sees it.

“So … about my place versus yours?”

Swallowing thickly, I carefully pick up the simple mug of coffee and take a sip before giving him an answer he should accept.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but I wasn’t sleeping well at your place either and I like being on my own.”

Images blur together in my mind. The memory of Cody’s broad chest above mine as he thrust himself inside of me, mixes with the sharp intake I took as Marcus pressed his back against me.

The sudden onslaught of detailed debauchery has me nearly dropping the white ceramic mug on the saucer. It clanks in protest and with trembling hands, I cover my eyes. Vaguely, Cody’s apology is little more than white noise.

“Sorry,” he says but I’m quick to object to it.

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks and all I can think of saying in response is a lie.

“I told you. I’m tired.” I’m not, though. I cling to my coffee cup. This is how cheaters must feel. This wretched twisting in my gut roils and churns. We didn’t have a label, we didn’t have rules or boundaries. Nevertheless, we have secrets.

It was odd before, between us. But caught in Cody’s gaze, it’s almost torturous now. I sit across from a man whose only personal possessions are those of a boy he lost long ago. And I know Marcus knew his brother. What I don’t know is if Cody knows it too.