He looks down at his hands, and I notice that he’s balled them into fists. “And you regret it?” he says tonelessly.

“No.” It bursts out of me, and it’s the most honest reaction I’ve had today. “No,” I say more quietly. “I can’t regret it.”

His chest rises and falls quickly. “Why?” The question is sharp and fast.

I swallow hard. This is the moment of truth. “Because I loved it,” I whisper.

He makes a graceless aborted gesture.

“Misha?” I say imploringly. I’m relieved when his expression shifts from an icy mask into something warmer.

“I don’t regret it either,” he says firmly.

“You don’t?” Hope and fear run through me. “Why?”

“Because it felt like the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

I gasp. “Really?” He nods. “But we never discussed it.”

“If we’d done that, we’d still be discussing it, Charlie. And we’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“So what do you want to do?”

Misha runs his hand roughly through his hair. His sleeve falls back, revealing faint finger marks on his wrist. I go hot and cold, remembering how I’d clutched it tightly as he’d moved inside me.

He reads something in my face, because he instantly moves close and gently pushes a hank of my hair behind my ear. It’s such a familiar gesture, one that he’s done so many times over the years, but it’s suddenly layered with so much new knowledge. Misha is tender like this when he makes love. He’s also passionate and hot and irresistibly sexy. And he tastes so fucking good on my tongue. And his eyes turn an incredible shade of blue when he comes and—

“Charlie, I want to explore what this is,” he says, and there’s a surety to his voice.

“Really?”

He nods.

“But how? I mean, are we fuck buddies now? You won’t go out on Grindr hook-ups because you’ve got me at home? Because I don’t think I can do that.”

He starts to laugh.

“Misha!” I say crossly. “What the hell is so funny?”

He reaches out and hugs me tight, and I nestle into him, feeling a wave of relief flood through me that we’re touching again.

“Do you really think that after all these years of knowing you that I’d actually suggest casual hook-ups?” His voice rich with emotion. “You’d come out in hives at the suggestion.”

“So what?”

He kisses the side of my head. “I want to date you, you twat,” he says.

I jerk back. “What?”

“I want to date you.”

“You don’t date, Misha.”

“Well, I think I might like to start.”

“But why?”

He shakes his head in bemusement. “Why are you suddenly the most difficult person in the whole world? When did this happen?”