I’ll have to take Fitz’s word for it. I can’t quite remember what I said or did two minutes ago, let alone two hours ago. I’m stuck in this moment—this small, quiet moment where holding hands with my friend feels more intimate than it should.

“He just caught me by surprise.” It’s a miracle I’m able to push out any words because Fitz traces gentle circles on my palms with the pad of his thumb. The feeling sort of steals my breath. And most of my vocabulary, apparently, because the only thing able to leave my mouth is a sigh.

“We need to touch each other without it looking so forced,” he says. “We should touch each other like we want to. I mean, we’re about to be newlyweds. We’ve got to walk the walk.”

I drag my attention from his hand up to his wrist. I bite my lip, having the strongest urge to drag my finger up to Fitz’s forearm.

“Within reason,” I argue.

“Of course, within reason.” Fitz agrees. “Does this bother you?”

I shake my head.

“I’d never do anything you’re not comfortable with, Parker.”

I try to swallow, but a lump’s growing in my throat.

“You can touch me, you know,” Fitz whispers. “Within reason.”

It’s then I realize that even though he’s holding my hand, I’m not technically holding his. I twist my arm so our fingers lock.

“Like this?” I ask.

“It’s a start.”

“A safe one,” I add, to which Fitz nods, agreeing. Then I ask, “What else is safe for you? What are your boundaries?”

“Anything that involves you keeping your clothes on and my hands off your thighs. I like to think I’m not shallow,” he says before adding, “except when it comes to legs.”

I roll my eyes. “Who would’ve thought boy scout Fitz would turn into such a flirt?”

“Maybe you turned into someone worth flirting with.”

When Fitz retires from football, he could break into acting. I almost believe him.

Biting my lip, I redirect the attention back to him. I don’t know why I feel as though Fitz’s arms are safe territory when his forearms are so damn dangerously attractive. But I muster up the courage to take my free hand and run a finger from his wrist to his elbow before I drag it back down on the inside.

Maybe this isn’t within Fitz’s boundaries. I swear he just trembled.

Dropping that hand, I bring it up to his head, pushing a soft lock of dark hair back from his forehead. “Is this safe?” I whisper.

The tip of his tongue pushes through his lips before retreating back into his mouth. “Totally safe.”