He licks his lips and it takes him a minute to look up at me. I can smell him now that he’s so close, the scent of clean water and soap still clinging to his skin, and I want to bury my face into the curve of his neck, that cozy, perfect nook.

“I shouldn’t have flipped out on you like that the other day,” he finally says.

I study him. It’s obvious now how much this has been eating him up. “Nate, it’s fine. I don’t care about—”

“I care. I shouldn’t have...” He takes a breath, stops himself from getting worked up. “I overreacted. I’m sorry, babe.”

And now I understand his quietness. He’s been feeling guilty, which only makes me feel guilty. This whole thing is my fault, not his.

I let out a sigh, thinking back to how this all started. “No. I was way out of line. You were right. I should’ve just come to you for the money. I never should have gotten involved with Taylor.” I pause for a moment. “And I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

The air is heavy with silence when I stop again, and neither of us breaks it. Nate is looking away, and I have no idea what’s going on inside his head, but for the first time the tension isn’t as palpable between us.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Nate finally looks back at me, not with anger, but with something else just as dangerous because it’s soft and kind and I’ve never wanted him more than I do in this moment.

And then the edges of a smile break through. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, his voice suddenly husky.

He sweeps my hair to the side, exposing my throat. I don’t say anything, just lean for his mouth. I can’t take it anymore. He gasps, just a little, not expecting my fire. I kiss him harder. His hands grip my waist as he tries his best to keep up with me.

I pull back, panting. “I hate when we fight.”

“Especially over petty shit.”

“Fighting over petty shit is for those other couples.”

He smiles against my mouth, strokes my chin with the pad of his thumb. “Then let’s not fight anymore,” he says, and I feel lost, so lost in the rush of blood, of heat that seems to burn away every thought. This time, when our eyes meet, his gaze is as hot as mine. The bottle of water slips from my hand as I collapse into him. He has to hold me up to keep us both from falling over and I feel completely weak against his strength. And then my fingers are in his hair, his hand under my shirt, my skin between his teeth.