She showered and changed into sleeping shorts and an oversized T-shirt, one that Vansh had worn. She hadn’t washed it because it smelled of him. Once she’d put it on, she realized how bad of an idea that was and tried to pull it off, but that only made her smell it more, so she let it be. Just for a few moments longer, just until she scrubbed the stain off her sweater.

She’d been scrubbing and scrubbing at the stain when she heard her front door open. Only one person had her code.

“Naina?” Her name in his voice, as if it were color and his voice a paintbrush.

The advantage of having an apartment that was all of four hundred square feet was that she heard the front door close behind him. “Is it okay if I come in?”

Her lights were on, the water was on, so pretending to be asleep was out of the question.

“You promised you wouldn’t come over.”

“I didn’t actually.” He was standing in the doorway of her bathroom, wide shoulders filling it up, disregarding her wishes. Their eyes met in the mirror before her. His gaze took her in and softened. “I’m sorry.”

Her hands sped up on the sweater, rubbing at the stubborn stain. The fabric tore between her fingers. “Shit.” She loved that sweater and now it was ruined. She tossed it in the trash, fingers raw from scrubbing.

I told you not to come over but you didn’t listen. The words danced on her tongue. The sense that he was too far away when he was just feet from her danced inside her.

“What are you sorry for exactly? The pissing contest?”

He blinked. She should have been used to the forest of lashes by now. But, no.

“Excuse me?” He had a way of speaking while barely moving his lips when he was hurting.

“Was this evening not a pissing contest?” She turned and leaned back into the vanity. It was the size of a pasta dish. They’d still had sex against it. Of course they had. They’d done it in every corner of her home.

Which meant she was going to have to move. The idea made her weary, but it was just another inevitability. Not putting her life back to rights was no longer an option.

“A pissing contest with whom exactly?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Vansh, with yourself? With your siblings?”

“I am not in any sort of contest with Yash over you.”

“Oh my God, that’s not what I meant at all. But now that you’ve said it, are you?”

“Naina, sweetheart. Yash is never in my thoughts when I think about you. Tell me you know that.”

She knew that. It didn’t change anything. “What I know is that dinner today was you staking your claim, hard.”