And fuck you, Quinton, for ruining this moment, when this perfect man wants to come be with me, to comfort me. You’ve ruined it by scarring me.

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “You can.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Not wanting to wake Grace, Lincoln texts me when he’s outside. Tightening the strings around my hoodie, I check myself in the mirror before walking out of the bedroom.

There’s no way I can pull this off. Lincoln will know that something is wrong. My heart thuds louder and louder as I tiptoe down the hall, uncertain of how the rest of the night will go. Inviting him here was dangerous. No doubt Lincoln will question me over my wardrobe choice. Before answering, I turn down the thermostat. If I make it the damn Arctic Circle in here, I can use that as my excuse.

Sorry, Grace.

Taking a reassuring breath, I swing the door open to find Lincoln standing before me. It’s dark, and I can’t see much, but there’s no missing his body language.

Lowering his head, he reaches out and rubs the exposed skin of my cheek. “Thank you for letting me come over.”

I chew on my lower lip as shivers barrel over my skin. Every part of me wants more of him.

“Come in,” I croak, stepping to the side to allow him room.

Shutting the door behind us, he follows me down the hall to my bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I wait for Lincoln to speak.

He shuts my bedroom door, and his eyebrows squish together as he studies me. “What’s with the sweatshirt?”

Of course that’s the first thing he notices.

I play with the strings of my shirt and glance away from him; my goal is to avoid all eye contact. “Grace likes to keep it cold in here.”

“Bullshit. Georgia used to complain about how warm she kept it when they were roommates.” He eyes me skeptically.

“Maybe she’s had a change of thermostat heart.” In need of a new subject, I tap the space next to me before slapping my hand against my knee. “You wanted to explain yourself?”

I hope my tone isn’t bitchy, but regret rushes through my thoughts. I knew Lincoln would be suspicious of the hoodie. If we don’t talk about another subject, that conversation will stray back to what I’m wearing. The problem is, I don’t know if I can deter him from it all night.