Oh, so you thought it would be all sunshine and smiles, huh? No questions? No truths? And what the hell do you mean, you’ve never cared enough about anyone?

I grab my coffee and mentally beg Jake to leave me alone, just for today. This is going to be hard enough without him poking at my conscience. “It’s just fucking typical that I would go and find the most defiant woman on the planet to—”

“Try and control?”

I shoot her a startled look. No. To fall in fucking love with. For Christ’s sake. Doesn’t she see it? And I don’t try and control her. I try to control myself. And fail.

“What about other relationships?” she asks, clearly not seeing my silent plea for this to stop.

“I don’t have relationships.” Only with drink. “I’m not interested in getting involved.” Except, clearly, with her. “Anyway, I don’t have time.” What the fuck am I saying? I’m being backed into a corner, completely caught off guard. I’m not prepared. This talk was supposed to happen later after our wonderful date.

“You’ve devoted enough time to trampling all over me,” she says, almost laughing.

“You’re different. I told you, Ava, I’ll trample anyone who tries to get in my way. Even you.”

She seems to take that news quite well, not scoffing or snorting her disgust. “Why am I so different?” she asks quietly, again distracting herself from looking at me. Breakfast is on the table. I missed that too.

“I don’t know, Ava.” I collect my cutlery and poke at my plate. My appetite is gone.

“You don’t know much, do you?”

Oh, baby, I know too much. And I want to protect you from it all.

“I know that I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman more than once,” I say quietly, my mouth speaking words I didn’t tell it to. “You, though, I really do.” Peeking up, I find Ava not just looking horrified, but hurt too. “That came out wrong.” I drop my fork, giving up on breakfast. This isn’t going well at all. “What I’m trying to say is that . . .” I love you. “Well . . .” And for some fucking reason, I can’t find those words. “I’ve never cared about a woman enough to want more than sex. Not until I met you.” My attempts to massage away my thumping headache are futile. “I can’t explain it, but you felt it,” I say, searching her eyes. “Didn’t you? When we met, you felt it.” I wasn’t alone in that crazy. I’m still not, and I need her to tell me, at least only to prove I’m not going in-fucking-sane.