Sydney carries the conversation through my first beer. She and Shaw are getting to know each other, too, so it’s easy and natural for Nathan and me to add input without it seeming like we don’t know the other like someone in a relationship would. But surprisingly I know, or have deduced, more than I thought. Surface level stuff, but it’s something.

We finish the pitcher and then take an Uber back to their place. Datson is playing video games in the living room, and Shaw heads straight for him. “I demand a rematch from this afternoon. You want winner, Payne?”

Nathan shakes his head. “Gonna hang with my girl.”

Sydney has already parked herself next to Shaw on the couch.

“It’s fine,” I insist and take a seat in an oversized chair.

“Want something to drink?” he asks, looking at me.

I nod, and he disappears into the kitchen. He returns a minute later and squeezes into the chair with me. He positions us so I’m basically on his lap. One arm is around my waist and the other holds his beer.

Every word, every laugh, every movement from him amps up my awareness of him in new ways. Yes, I know we’ve already slept together, but it’s a blur—a tangle of moments. Good moments, if I’m honest, but they’re still just pieces of him through Everclear glasses. And let’s be real, Everclear glasses are foggy as fuck.

“Damn. I’ve never seen anyone lose so fast.” Datson punches Shaw in the arm and then looks to Nathan. “You’re up.”

I start to move, but Nathan tightens his hold. “Shaw, toss me the controller.”

“You think you’re going to win with one arm?” Datson raises a brow.

“Nah, two arms and Bo Jackson.” He leans over the arm of the chair and places his beer on the floor and then sits up and wraps both of his long arms around me so that he can get both hands on the controller.

“I could move,” I say quietly, turning my head and finding his mouth so close I can smell the faint scent of beer and the mint gum he chewed on the ride back from The Hideout.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, but his arms squeeze tighter. “Don’t you dare. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

I’m not sure if the last part is meant for me or Datson as I hear the latter groan, “Fucking Bo Jackson.”

I sit forward suddenly, breaking his hold. He raises a brow in question.

“I’ve gotta pee,” I announce, not so eloquently before fleeing and putting some much-needed space between us.

Sydney is two steps behind me and when I get to the bathroom and go to close the door, she calls out, “Wait up.”

She follows and locks the door behind us.