He’s so perfect. I mean, not perfect. One of his eyes opens a little wider than the other, there’s a chip on his left canine, and his hair is disheveled in a way that was clearly not the product of styling gel. Plus, he tends to make jokes in serious situations, and he helps people to the point that he overextends himself, and he tried to push a lifetime commitment on me after only a handful of weeks.

So, he’s not perfect.

He’s just perfect for me.

“Are you knocking on my door for a reason?” Warner’s smile comes hesitantly.

I hate it. Hate that he’s holding himself back. That first night, the biker guy didn’t know me, but he still walked right up to my side, multiple times, insinuating himself in my life when I was still trying to figure my life out.

I want that unwarranted confidence back. So badly that I decide to skip a few steps.

“I need to apologize, but can I kiss you first?”

Warner steps toward me, his eyes now hot. “You never have to ask.”

I pounce on him. Or at least, I try to pounce. Unfortunately, my sore ankle has me stumbling face-first into his chest, and I gasp in pain as I try to use the hand with my broken wrist to grasp his shirt before I slide down to the pavement.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Warner scolds, quick to grip me under my armpits in a not-very-romantic hold. He sets me on my good leg and wraps an arm around my waist to support some of my weight.

“That was supposed to be a much sexier move. I was envisioning jumping into your arms and wrapping my legs around you.”

“That sounds appealing in every way possible. But let’s put that on hold until you get some more healing under your belt.” Warner grins down at me, smoothing stray hairs away from my face.

“I was wrong,” I proclaim.

Before he can respond, I use my good hand to clutch the back of his neck and bring his face down to mine in a searing kiss.

At the taste of him, the feel of his sturdy body against mine, my proclamation is proven fact. How could I have thought for a second to give this up? To give him up?

I love my family, but they’re a sure thing. I realize that now. I could move to China, and my brothers would come by plane or boat or teleportation machine to force their overbearing love on me.

Warner doesn’t have to follow me. And I shouldn’t ask him to. What Warner needs is for someone to fight for him. To choose him.

To love him.