I inhale the scent of his sheets, the scent of Nick. “Better. But I’m sorry I barged into your perfect apartment and bothered you.”

He shakes his head. “You never bother me.”

“I do, though. I bother you about all kinds of things. Mostly music-related things.”

“Yeah, but.” Nick meets my eyes. “I secretly love it.”

“You’re just saying that because my life is falling apart,” I say. Then I scoot over. “Get in here with me. I’m cold and I need your body heat.”

“Chloe,” Nick groans.

“Come on. Didn’t you hear me? My life is falling apart,” I whine, and he exhales a laugh, then lifts up the blankets and slides in and there he is, his body fitting right next to mine, his legs pressed next to my legs.

“You think this is a good idea?” he asks, his voice low, his arms crossed like he’s trying to avoid touching me.

“You help me fall asleep,” I whisper. Our faces are so close that our noses are almost touching, and then I say the one thing I know to be true. “I feel comfortable with you.”

“I’m wearing street clothes.”

“Which is disgusting, but I’m willing to forgive it.”

“How generous of you.”

Neither of us says anything for a moment, and I listen to the sound of our breath as we stare at each other. “Thanks for taking care of me,” I say. “And for coming with me to the premiere. And for . . . being there. All the time.”

Nick reaches a hand up and brushes his fingers against the side of my face.

“Hey,” I say before I can stop myself. “Whatever happened with the heart-printed-dress girl?”

Nick’s fingers stop moving. “Who?”

“You know. The girl who came in and gave you her number. Did you guys go out? Did you—”

“No.”

I exhale a sigh of relief right into Nick’s face. “Really?”

“Really.”

“And what about the apps?”

His face scrunches up in confused disgust. “The what?”

“You know.” I shove his shoulder and leave my hand there. “The ones Shivan and Doug signed you up for.”

Nick lets out a gruff chuckle. “Oh. Those. Yeah, I’m not doing that. They can make all the profiles they want, but I’m not going on a date with anyone.”

“You . . . aren’t?”

“Chloe,” he says. “I don’t want anybody else. I want you.”

I stop breathing. My soul leaves my body.

“But here’s what I need to know,” he says. “What do you want?”

I swallow, hard. I am so tired, physically and mentally and emotionally. I’m tired of being the strong one, of giving up everything to take care of everyone else. I’m not even saying I want to stop doing that, but I want a break. I need a break. I deserve a break. I need one thing that’s for me, to do one thing I want to do even if it doesn’t make sense, even if it might cause problems later, even if it isn’t a good idea.