I glance over, watching as he takes a drink from a glass bottle that was hidden in the shadows. The light is dim, but it’s enough to illuminate a purplish bruise blooming just above the sharp line of his jaw. “What happened to your face?”

“Game tonight…devolved.”

“Into a brawl?”

Holden scoffs. “You should see the other guy.”

“You actually got into a fight?” My voice rises an octave, surprise and concern sharpening the words.

“It was nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” I glance at the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing, wondering if it’s covering other bruises.

“Why do you care?”

“I…care. Getting drunk and fighting? You’re more than that—you’re better than that, Holden.”

He snorts before grabbing the whiskey bottle and taking another sip of the amber liquid. “You can spare me the wasted potential pep talk.”

“Fine. I will.” I lean over, intending to snatch the bottle. If he wants to throw a pity party, at least I can save him from getting alcohol poisoning while he attends it.

Holden moves too. To stop me or grab the bottle, or maybe he’s equally uncomfortable sitting on the hard asphalt. He straightens as I reach, and somehow I end up mostly in his lap. Closer than we’ve been since…I know exactly how long it’s been since we were this close, actually.

I should move away. Far, far away, from the scent of cinnamon and the heat of his body. But I don’t. I remain frozen in place, watching our proximity register on Holden’s face. The haze of liquor leaves his eyes, and the false humor disappears from his face.

Holden tilts his head back, looking up at the sky. I can see more of his face than I could before. Not just the bruised jaw, but the freckle beneath his left eye. The small bump on the bridge of his nose from when he took a basketball to the face in fifth grade gym class. The small crease in the corner of his mouth where a dimple rarely appears.

His throat bobs as he swallows. Once. Twice. “Only you.” He whispers the words, then laughs. “Only you could get me hard right now.”

Unconsciously, I shift. Seeking. Or maybe it’s conscious. Maybe I know exactly what I’m looking for. Maybe the past few years have all been leading up to this moment, to some acknowledgment there’s more between us than a forgotten friendship. An abandoned friendship he walked away from.

Holden groans when I brush against the bulge in his joggers. It fuels something rising in me. Some urge, a primal motivation.

The words Only you could get me hard right now are echoing in my head.

A secret, sincere confession. And also an acknowledgment of what we’ve avoided. Well, what he avoided and I accepted, to protect what little of my heart he hadn’t already broken.