“Yeah, I am,” he says, and then he elbows open the door and deposits me on my feet. He closes the door. “Is Kristen here?”

I shake my head. “She went to Jordan’s when she heard you were coming over.” He takes my hand, brings me to the couch, and sinks down on it, facing me.

“Talk to me,” I say. “Just because I let you carry me, doesn’t mean I’m that easy. I’m so glad you’re here, but you can’t fall into me and use me again. You need to tell me what you’re feeling. Don’t bury it in your head, or in sex.”

He reaches for both of my hands, clasps them in his, leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t want to go through something horrible again, Harley,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to, either.”

“And it would be worse this time. Not just a brother, but a son, or a daughter.”

“I know,” I say softly. “I know.”

“I can’t lose someone again. I don’t know that I can survive it.”

“We just have to hope. We have to hope for the best. Because there are no promises.”

“I don’t want to be scared, though. I don’t want to live each day remembering how awful it was to lose them.”

“So don’t, Trey,” I say, meeting his gaze, and not letting go. I place a hand on his cheek, so he has to look at me. “Make a choice. Make a choice to live going forward. We don’t get to have a protective suit.”

“Some days I just want to escape.”

“And when you feel that way, you need to talk to me, okay?” I grasp his hands harder for emphasis.

He squeezes back and nods. “I will.”

“One day at a time, right? Isn’t that what they all say?”

“Yeah, but sometimes the fear feels so insurmountable, and I want to be strong for you.”

“You are strong, Trey. You are.”

“And then there’s the whole matter of, you know, being twenty-one and having a kid.”

“This isn’t what I would have chosen for us. Not now, at least. But it’s our reality, and we have to deal with it,” I say, then a dark thought crosses my mind and I tense and pull away. “Wait. You didn’t come here to end it with me?”

He stares at me like I’m a puzzle that makes no sense. “Seriously? Did you seriously ask that?”

I nod, jutting out my chin. “Yes. I seriously asked that.”

“Let me ask you a question. Do I look insane?”

I pretend to inspect him, peeking behind his ear, checking out his face. “No.”

“Then no. Never. You’re not getting rid of me. Because here’s the thing you need to know. I’m in love with you, and that’s a package deal. And that means no matter what, I’m by your side. Whatever happens, I’ll be here. I’m not the kind of guy who walks away. I might be scared out of my fucking mind, but I’m not running. You’re stuck with me, Harley,” he says, and shoots me another lopsided grin that makes my stomach flip.

I snort. “Well, we’re definitely stuck together now.”

He slides his hand under my shirt, feathers his fingers against my belly. “Yeah, we are.”

“But you really hurt me the other night in your kitchen, and you can’t do that again. You can’t have sex with me like I’m not important,” I tell him, pressing my hand against his strong chest.

“I know. I won’t. I promise,” he says, his eyes locked with mine, so sincere.

“I’m not a drug, Trey. I’m your girlfriend, and I’m going to be the mother of your child, now. I don’t talk to you like I did my clients, so you can’t talk to me like you did.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

“I believe you,” I say. “I just don’t want to be like them. I wish there was a position or something you’ve never done with anyone else. That could be just for me. But that’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Harley. It’s just I’ve done a lot, and you know that. It’s not fair to ask for that.”

“I know,” I say in a low voice. “It doesn’t matter. Forget I said it. Besides, I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

“What do you feel like doing?”

“Making up,” I say, then I kiss him, and even though his lips have touched mine countless times, it feels like our first kiss, all over again. But a new first kiss, a kiss that comes from knowing someone and hurting someone and loving someone and promising you’ll do everything not to hurt them again.

He kisses me slowly, taking his time, sliding the tip of his tongue across my lips, parting them. There’s something both sweet and dirty in how he kisses me, like it’s a kiss and a teaser of all the other things he can do with his tongue, all the ways he touches me. I moan as he kisses me, roping my arms around his neck, tracing the soft ends of his hair. Then the kiss becomes more urgent, a desperate kiss because we need each other so much.

His hands are all over me, moving from my neck to my shoulders down to my wrists, and every place he touches me sets off a fresh wave of goosebumps. By the time he reaches my hipbones I’m aflame with heat and need.

“Come here,” he says, pulling me up from the couch.

“Gladly,” I say, and I figure we’ll head towards my bedroom, but he stops at the bathroom and pulls me in. He tugs off his T-shirt, and starts to unzip his jeans. “There’s something we can do that I’ve never done with anyone before.”

I narrow my eyes. I might not have done much, but I know about everything. “Um . . .” I say, because I’m not into weird stuff.

“Harley,” he says as he turns on the water. “Just the shower.”

“Good,” I say, and we strip and step under the hot stream. “But you’re really saying you’ve never showered with someone before?”

He sighs heavily. “I don’t want to dissect everything I’ve done, but I’ve never done this,” he says, as he gently cups my neck and leans my head under the stream of water, letting it wet my long hair so it’s a sleek blanket along my spine. He reaches for my shampoo, squirts some into his hands, and then washes my hair, his strong fingers kneading my scalp as he works the shampoo through my strands. It feels so good that I close my eyes, and let the sensations flood me. The gentle way he washes my hair, his fingertips rubbing against my scalp, sends a new kind of pleasure through my body. Not sexual, not desire, but peace and calm and warmth from him taking care of me as his fingers reach through the ends of my hair. He leans my head back, washing out the mango scent of my shampoo. I feel cared for, as if the way he’s touching me is a promise of what he’ll do for me. For us, in the future.

“That,” he whispers softly in my ear, his words in harmony with the beat of the shower against the tile, “That’s for you only. Always.”

He soaps up his hands, runs them gently over my shoulders, my arms, my belly and then higher. I bite my lip as he palms my breasts with his lathery hands. He rolls his thumbs under my breasts, and then he groans as he strokes my nipples until they turn to hard peaks.

He wraps his hands around my ass, cupping my cheeks and tugging me against his wet body, his hard cock rigid against my thigh. I reach for the soap, lathering up my hands.

“And is this for me, too?” I ask, grasping him.

“Hell yeah,” he says in a husky voice. I grip him harder and he rocks into my fist. “Always for you.”

I watch as he closes his eyes, and his breathing intensifies as I stroke him in the shower, hot water raining down on both of us, his hard length in my hand. He reaches for the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “This is what you do to me, Harley,” he says, his voice rasping. “You. No one else.”

“Good,” I say, as I touch him the way he likes, hard and tight, with quick strokes. “Because you better be thinking of me.”

“I am thinking of you,” he says, his mouth grazing my wet neck. Then he reaches between our soapy bodies, grasps my hand, and stills my movements. “But I’m also thinking that if you don’t stop touching me I’m going to come in your hand, and it’s not a make-up hand job that we’re supposed to have. It’s make-up sex that I want.”

“Make-up sex…I don’t think we’ve ever had that before. Because we’ve never had a fight like this before. Will it be epic?”

“So fucking epic,” he says, in such a sexy voice that heat rushes through my body, pools between my legs.

With his hand tight around mine I give one more quick stroke, then let go of him. I smack him lightly on the ass.

He opens his eyes, and laughs. “What was that for?”

I waggle my eyebrows. “Because it was fun.”

He pinches my butt in return, and I giggle.

“Rinse off, and let’s get out.”

Within minutes, we’re both in my bed, naked, dried off, wet hair dampening the pillows, music playing softly from my iPod, a mix I made of sexy songs. The Perishers bat first with a slow number that always makes me think of Trey: 8 a.m. Departure.

He clears his throat. “So, you wanted something just for you?”

“Yeah?” I ask curiously because I don’t know how he could fulfill that request. But I’m not sure it matters because he’s running his hand over my shoulder, kissing my tattoo, then trailing his fingertips down to my wrists, lacing his fingers through mine so excruciatingly slowly, sliding into the space between them like he’s making love to my hand. I can’t help myself—I sigh loudly, like a lust-struck idiot. Because we’re naked in bed, holding hands, and it’s become this erotic act, as he strokes the top of my hand with his fingertips. I close my eyes momentarily, letting the sensations wash over me. A spark of heat ignites in my chest, then jumps to my shoulders, to my fingers, down through my belly, finally making its home between my legs, as heat pours into every cell in my body.

“I like that,” I tell him when I open my eyes, and if that’s what he had in mind, I’ll take it. Because I know without a shadow of a doubt that he’s never held hands with anyone else, and certainly not the way he did with me just now, like it’s foreplay.