It takes us a hot second to catch the bartender’s attention, but once we do, we order a couple of vodka sprites. It’s turned into our drink of choice for the trip. We’re not driving, so might as well.

“You ever been to a place like this before?” I lean into Caleb’s side and try my best to ask over the music. I can’t help but catch a whiff of his scent. He smells like something warm like vanilla bean and smoky like a campfire. It must be his body wash but damn, it’s delicious and makes my mouth water.

I take a sip of my drink to try and stuff that feeling down.

“Really, Nathaniel?” he asks with one brow raised.

My eyebrow arches. “What?” Was I that obvious?

“Asking me if I come here often?” He smirks, taking a big sip of his drink and finishing it off.

“Talking to you is infuriating,” I shake my head and laugh.

“Really? Because I think you enjoy it, and that’s what’s so infuriating,” He sets his empty glass on the bar top.

I swallow deeply, trying to think of something witty to say back. But, nothing comes up. Because oddly enough, I’m scared he’s right.

“Let me buy the next round,” I nod at his glass. I don’t want him paying for this whole trip. I didn’t miss the way he took care of our covers to get in here.

“How about, no.” He slicks his hair back and I immediately feel my dick twitch in my pants.

“Why don’t you let me pay for you?” I narrow my eyes at him.

He bites his lip and shakes his head. “Because I like taking care of you, idiot.”

“When are you going to get it through your thick skull that I don’t need you to take care of me?” I laugh, shoving him gently.

“When are you going to get it through your thick skull that it’s not about what you need—it’s about what I want.” He shoves me back. “Now, finish your drink and let’s get looking.”

His words take me by surprise. So... he just enjoys taking care of me? That’s... weird. Right?

But if I think about it, he has always sort of gone out of his way to make sure I’m okay. Even when I didn’t need it. It’s like my brain turns off when he’s around.

As if everything is handled—because he’s there.

It’s like subconsciously, even after everything he’s done…I trust him. I think I’ll always trust him. And that scares the hell out of me.

But wait—what about him? Who’s taking care of him? I struggle with pushing down the undeniable answer to that question that’s screaming in my head.

I want it to be me.

I tip my head back and finish off my drink before following him into the crowd.

I guess, however this night is going to go, I know he’ll have my back either way.

And I know I’ll have his.