Holden’s eyes scrutinize my expression, his gaze hot and probing. It sears my skin like a physical touch. “Okay,” he finally says, turning back to the television that’s affixed above the fireplace mantle on the opposite wall.

The movie I clicked on is up on the screen. I hit play and lean back against the cushions, trying to figure out a way to avoid spending more time with him. I need a minute—alone—to internally freak out about what just happened. I can’t do that when he’s next to me, smelling good and looking relaxed and acting like this is no big deal.

Should I pretend to fall asleep?

Go use the bathroom?

Act like I heard a noise and am worried Sydney woke up?

Finding me sitting on the couch with Holden would be less shocking than seeing us half-naked, but she’d still have questions. Holden and I don’t hang out together. Especially alone, in the middle of the night.

“Why did you pick this?”

I startle again when he speaks, lost in my own head. “What?”

He looks over and quirks a brow. “This movie. Why did you pick it?”

“Um…” Honestly, it looked bloody and action-packed and something a guy would like. That he would like.

Somehow admitting that feels difficult.

Holden leans forward without waiting for more of a response, grabbing the remote and clicking back to the main menu. He hasn’t put his shirt back on. The muscles in his back roil and tense as he moves, his body more man than boy.

It’s unfair, really, how my childhood crush grew up to be the hottest guy in town. Why couldn’t he look like most of the boys in our year? Uncertain and lanky and unsure? He looks how he acts—assured—and I love it and loathe it in equal measure.

I wonder how cocky he’d get—if I asked him to put a shirt on. It’s as distracting as the smell of cinnamon swirling in the air.

It’s not until he settles back against the cushions that I realize he put something else on the television. I glance between him and the screen, too surprised to speak at first.

“Why are we watching this?”

He sips more beer, lifting his legs and resting them on the coffee table. “It’s what I thought you’d want to watch.”

The words I was too nervous to say when he asked are delivered simply. Easily, like it’s no big deal.

Holden looks at me. “Was I wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay then?”

I clear my throat. “Can I have some?”

He nods, then holds the bottle out to me again. I hesitate before sipping, rubbing my finger against the wet label until a few pieces of paper fall in my lap.

“I liked the taste.” I drink, then muster the courage to look him in the eye.

“You’d never swallowed before?”

“No.”