The next photo I pick up is of Lincoln in a lacrosse uniform.

Shocker.

“You were hot.” I smile. “I so would’ve dated you in high school.”

He stops in the middle of making up his bed and wrinkles his nose. “Only in high school?”

“Shut up.” I return the photo to the dresser. “You know I’d date you so hard right now. And don’t bother saying the same because I know if I were old, like you, you’d date me so hard.”

“But unfortunately, you’re too young for me.”

“And you’re too dumb for me for saying that.”

He winces. “Ouch.”

My chest tightens, but I’m strong enough to maintain a straight face. We’re joking, being good ole buddies, ole pals, but it pains me every time he mentions our age difference, when he calls me too young. It’s not like he’s Hugh Hefner and I just graduated from high school. Yes, there’s a slight age difference but nothing too out of the ordinary. Hell, Georgia is years behind Archer.

That heartache of the topic hits harder now that we’ve kissed. I had known kissing him would be exciting, but it was more than I’d expected. It was perfection. Never before had just a kiss dragged out emotions so strong, a need so heavy, a compulsion to want to have everything with a man. Him kissing me verifies he feels the same way, but in true Callahan boy fashion, he’s hiding.

Now, he’s acting as if it never happened. Since we’re in a house full of people and I’m not sure where the conversation would lead, I decide to save it for later. If he says the wrong thing, it’s not like I can storm out of here and leave. Walking home or asking Grace to leave in the middle of the night aren’t options.

There’s a time and a place to talk with the guy I’m falling for. A time and a place to bring up the kiss. My stomach sinks at the realization that he might think said kiss was a mistake.

Kneeling, I unzip my overnight bag and yank my pajamas from it before snagging my toothbrush. “I’m going to change and get ready for bed.”

He salutes me as I stroll into the adjoined bathroom. With a large glass shower and a blue rug, it doesn’t provide as much character as his bedroom does. Walking out in a silky camisole and plaid pants—I packed casually but still kept a hint of sexiness—I find Lincoln changed into a white tee and gray sweats. I blush, taking him in, before noticing the candy pile on the bed.

“What’s this?”

Lincoln glances up at me. “Movies and snacks until we crash out … until you crash out.”

And just like that, the tension over our kiss unbinds.