He studies me for a beat before slowly shutting the door, as if he was considering leaving it open. Maybe he should so we both have an easy escape from what promises to be an awkward conversation.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah.”

I pour us each a cup from the fresh pot and doctor mine with cream, stirring thoroughly as an excuse to avoid his eyes. When I can’t delay it anymore, I cross the kitchen to the other side of the island and hand him his coffee. I still can’t look him in the eye, so I keep my gaze on his chest. Coward.

I frown at the Jackson Harbor Hospital pediatrics visitor sticker on his shirt. “Who’s in the hospital?”

He glances down, following my gaze. “Oh, shit.” He peels it off, crumples it, and tucks it into his pocket. “A . . . friend of mine was in an accident.”

“Is he okay?”

Carter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Doped up on pain meds at the moment. Lucky as fuck, if I’m honest, but he’ll be okay.”

“Good. That’s my unit, so let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks.” He takes a breath. “What was Shay doing here?”

“You know, trying to get the scoop on what happened between us last night and threatening to do me bodily harm if I break your heart.”

He grunts. “I thought it was your brothers who were supposed to threaten me.”

“I don’t have any brothers, so I guess you lucked out.”

He shrugs, as if he wouldn’t mind, or maybe he’s distracted. He seems . . . off. “Regardless, I’m sorry she’s butting in. I’ll talk to her.”

I wave a hand. “She’s my best friend. I’d be worried if she wasn’t trying to pry the details out of me.” I wince, realizing we’ve landed right on the conversation I was hoping to put off until . . . never. “Not that I admitted anything, but the hickey you left behind probably did the confessing for me.”

He squeezes the back of his neck and grimaces. Awkwardness threatens to creep back into the room.

Now’s as good a time as any. “About last night,” I say, at the same time as he says, “I’m sorry if things moved too fast.”

I blow out a long breath. “It’s not that, Carter. It’s . . . you’re my friend.”

He takes a seat at the table. “And you’re mine. I’m not interested in changing that.” His eyes wrinkle at the corners, and he laughs, some of that uncharacteristic tension leaving his shoulders. “But if those panties are supposed to keep me from thinking about last night, I have to tell you, they’re failing spectacularly.”

When that self-assured gaze of his dips again, I remember I’m not wearing pants. Sleep must still have ahold of my brain for me to forget that quickly. I yank my robe closed and tie it tight, embarrassment licking flames up my neck and into my cheeks.