When he returns, the mattress dips and I feel the unbelievable heat of his body slide behind me beneath the covers. He’s careful not to jostle me but curls along my spine, the thick band of his arm sliding around my waist, hand splayed across my stomach with a new, thrilling possession. Eventually my breathing evens out and I’m in that delicious space just before sleep, where everything in the entire world is perfect.

“It’s you,” he whispers, and then bends to kiss my hair.

It’s you.

And suddenly, I’m on an epic mental bender, imagining all of the things he could have meant when he said it. It takes no time for him to clarify, though.

“I want to be good to you.” He rolls me to face him, and kisses me once before admitting, “I’m just fucking wild for you.”

“I think I spotted that just now,” I whisper.

“I mean,” he clarifies, “the I love you kind of wild.”

I feel every drop of blood in my body collect in my chest, pressure and thrill building, and then it bursts into my limbs in a mad rush of adrenaline and relief and a love so enormous I feel light-headed.

“Yeah?” I ask through a smile so dopey I’m relieved he can’t see me very well in the dark room.

But his laugh tells me I’m wrong, and he can see me just fine. “Yeah.”

I manage to say it back, laughing into the firm press of his mouth over mine, hard and rowdy, all over again.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter TWELVE

Finn

I’M GROWING FAMILIAR with this position: in bed, my mind going nonstop while I stare up at the ceiling.

But this view is new, and instead of the shadow of palm trees on the plaster above me, there’s the shimmering night-reflection of a pool in the courtyard just outside. Harlow’s neighborhood is quieter than Oliver’s: There’s no teenage band playing in the garage on the corner, no barking dog in the yard next door, fewer cars passing by at every hour of the night.

It’s so peaceful—with only the soft, measured sound of her breathing right next to me—that I imagine if I try hard enough, I could hear the ocean a few blocks away. It’s pitch-black out and she’s been asleep for the last hour, her leg slung easily over my hip and practically every inch of her bare skin touching practically every inch of mine. And when she shifts in her sleep, tightening her grip on the sheet at my waist, it’s almost enough to distract me from the silence, to tempt me into waking her up and wearing her out all over again.

Almost.