“I got it.” Suddenly, there’s no weight on my shoulder.

I spin around, then take a step back.

Holden is close, closer than I expected him to be. He grips the handle of my bag since his own is slung over his shoulder.

I clear my throat. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” There’s something warm and soft in his expression, an intimacy that makes my insides feel like toasted marshmallow.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, not sure what else to say to him. We haven’t spoken since I left his hotel room last night.

The night itself was perfect, everything I imagined and more. But it wasn’t reality. I thought Holden and I were fated before. That fantasy crashed and burned. My expectations are rock bottom this time. I wanted Holden to be my first, and he was. Maybe—hopefully—that was the closure I needed.

The butterflies in my stomach say otherwise.

“You saw my text?”

“Yeah. I did.”

His message saying he was riding with the guys because they had to go over something for the team was unexpected. It felt like something you’d send to your girlfriend, not the girl you had a one-night stand with.

“Sorry I, uh, forgot to respond. I fell asleep.” I didn’t know what to say in response either, but that feels harder to admit.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” Holden asks innocently. For anyone eavesdropping on our conversation—which I hope is no one—it’s innocuous.

But I catch the teasing glimmer in his eyes. The upward curve of his mouth.

I want to be the girl who’s suave and unaffected. Who has a flirty, clever response ready for any teasing. Instead, I’m the girl with warm cheeks and a tied tongue. Who’s spent all day replaying parts of last night, worrying about what I might have done wrong.

I smile, then look at the ground. I’m so far out of my depth here, it’s not even funny.

My familiarity with him is a double-edged sword. There’s the scrawny six-year-old I moved in across the street from and used to play H-O-R-S-E with. Then there’s the eighteen-year-old version who avoids commitment and who was inside me last night.

I know him and I don’t.

Sometimes I hate him and I also might be in love with him.

Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it.

A warm hand lands on my chin and tilts it upward. Blue eyes search my face. “Are we good, Cassia?”

“We’re good.”

Holden doesn’t look away or drop his hand. “Are you sure?”

“I knew exactly what it was, Holden. Or rather, what it wasn’t.”