Chapter Ten

"And that's all the time we have today, folks. Thank you ever so much for listening and we all hope you enjoyed this extra special episode of Unhinged wherein we discussed what to do when you accidentally find an engagement ring in your significant other's sock drawer and you really don't want to marry them, along with how to cope after running into your parents on—gasp—a swingers' cruise. Join me, your host, Caitlin McCrory, this Thursday for our regularly scheduled episode wherein I'll be chatting with local sexpert McKenna Manansala about everything from upgrading your orgasm with toys to how to remove come stains from cashmere because, hey-o, we've all been there, haven't we?"

Colin's expression went pained and he muttered something that sounded an awful lot like please shoot me, under his breath.

Caitlin waggled her fingers at the camera. "As always, a gentle reminder to subscribe and leave a glowing review because my rent un-fucking-fortunately does not pay itself. And if you want to tell your friends and the most open-minded members of your family to check me out, who the hell am I to say no? Until next time, Unhinged fam."

Caitlin pointed finger guns at the camera and winked before reaching for the remote.

"Another episode for the books." Caitlin stretched her arms over her head, back cracking. "Any fun plans tonight, Truly?"

"If by fun plans, you mean a hot date with a box of Kraft mac 'n' cheese eaten in front of my computer while I revise, then yeah, totally."

"Wow, not to be a bitch, but that sounds tragic." Caitlin stood. "Back me up, Colin."

"It does. Neon-orange powder should not be allowed to call itself cheese. That's—that's dairy sacrilege."

"Dairy sacrilege? Who are you, the pope of pasteurized milk?" Truly laughed. "It's cheese product, McCrory. It comes out of a box. I think you overestimate my standards while I'm on deadline. My diet mostly consists of mac 'n' cheese, frozen pizza, and Chinese takeout."

Colin full-body cringed.

"Ignore him." Caitlin laughed. "He's a food snob. But it's Saturday and those are some of the worst weekend plans I've ever heard. Let me buy you a drink."

"And a real meal," Colin muttered.

"You, shut up," she said to Colin before turning to Caitlin. "That's sweet of you, but—"

"I am far from sweet. I want to." Caitlin jutted out her bottom lip. "Please? You've been such a doll, putting up with me and Colin these last few weeks. Not to mention, I have you to thank for my frankly phenomenal new deal with Spotify. Colin and I already have plans to check out this new bar over on Lenora. Come with us. We'll have so much fun."

Lenora was only a street over from her apartment, but Truly had a long Sunday ahead of her. The drive to the lake house in Chelan was five hours and she still had to pack and she'd really love it if she could make a little headway on her revisions. Because as soon as she got to Chelan? Her number one priority was her parents. She had no clue when she'd have the time or energy to work on her book when she had a real-life happily ever after to help orchestrate. "I don't know."

"Pretty please?" Caitlin batted her lashes. "Come on! First round's on Colin."

He huffed. "Says the girl who just got paid an absurd amount of money to talk about how to get come out of cashmere."

Caitlin punched him in the arm. "Don't act like you aren't proud of me."

Colin wrinkled his nose, but dragged her in, kissing her forehead and no, Truly did not melt a little.

"I really wouldn't want to impose."

"Don't be ridiculous," Caitlin chastised. "Colin, tell Truly she wouldn't be imposing."

He smiled, a flash of white teeth against pink lips stretched wide. If her heart happened to skip a beat? No, it didn't. "If anything, you'd be doing me a favor."

Caitlin grumbled under her breath, too quiet to make out the words. Not that Truly was trying particularly hard, still snared by Colin's stare and the brightness of his smile, the quirk of his lips and the lift of his brows all but screaming, what do you say, St. James? without him having to open his mouth.

And God, what a mouth it was. Lips like those should be illegal. In the right light, they didn't even look pink, they looked red. A color she'd have to reach for a tube of lipstick to achieve. Kiss bitten. Wind chapped, probably, but the thought of someone else, someone who wasn't her, scraping their teeth against the swell of Colin's bottom lip until it plumped, until it turned tender and swollen, made her blood boil.

Just because she had no business kissing Colin didn't mean she relished the thought of someone else kissing him instead.

Lips like those were practically begging to be kissed. Plenty of people would agree, people who would be out at a bar on a Saturday night, looking for someone like Colin to kiss.

What harm could come from one little drink? A chaperoned one at that. Baby steps.

"Text me the address," she said. "As long as we're not drinking tequila, I'm in."

***

"Okay, picture like forty-some-odd McCrory relatives crammed into our parents' house. Distant cousins and—hell, even our great-grandmother from County Sligo flew all the way across the pond. It's a big thing." Caitlin slammed back a shot of whiskey like a goddamn champ because she had no compunctions about indulging even if Truly did. "There's, like, eggnog and cider and a dozen different kinds of cookies and Mariah Carey's crooning about how all she wants for Christmas is you, ya know?"

Truly took a delicate sip of a Dirty Shirley, pacing herself. "I follow."

"Perfect. So, now imagine—oh hell yes." Caitlin wiggled excitedly on her barstool. "I'm starving."

"Good. I think I ordered enough food for a small army," Colin said, back from ordering at the bar. He placed a bowl of roasted brussels sprouts in front of Truly before setting a basket of parmesan truffle fries that smelled like salty deep-fried heaven in the center of the table, along with some sort of fancy beet salad, and a plate of wings smothered in buffalo sauce. "Dig in."

"Don't mind if I do," Truly said, reaching past the bowl of brussels sprouts for a fry covered in cheesy, garlicky goodness.

With a put-upon sigh, Colin pointedly nudged the bowl of brussels sprouts closer. "Eat something green, please."

"Let the woman eat her fries in peace, Dad." Caitlin snorted.

"You know very well our father has never once willingly eaten a salad that didn't have Caesar in the name. Or that wasn't smothered in blue cheese dressing and bacon bits."

"It was Dad energy," Caitlin said.

It was, and Truly would be lying if she said it wasn't kind of hot in a weird, let's unpack that laterduring sex-positive therapy kind of way. Right now she just wanted to stuff her face and hear Caitlin finish her story.

"I'm not anti-vegetable. I understand the value of dietary fiber. I just happen to prefer my veggies covered in cheese and deep-fried. That's my choice." She popped another fry in her mouth and moaned at the flavor explosion. Those truffles were fucking magical.

"A perfectly valid choice at that." Caitlin tapped her own fry against Truly's.

Colin shook his head and speared a golden beet on his fork. "There's goat cheese on these, if that persuades you to eat something not deep-fried."

"Now you're speaking my language." Truly scooped a beet with goat cheese onto her plate. "Caitlin? You were telling me about... I don't remember actually. Something about Christmas and County Sligo?"

Colin groaned. "Caitie, no."

"Caitie, yes." Caitlin grinned. "Okay, imagine that the holiday music is running through the Bluetooth speaker system in our house."

Colin tipped his head back and groaned. "Caitie—"

"Shut the fuck up." She shoved him. "This is my story. As I was saying... wait, where was I?"

His ears had gone pink, and the front of his throat was splotched red. "You were about to shut up and eat your goddamn vegetables."

"Bluetooth speakers?" Truly said, grinning as Colin glared.

Caitlin snapped her fingers. "Bluetooth speakers! Right. Colin mumbles something about grabbing something from his room and disappears upstairs. A few minutes later the music cuts off and none of us can figure out why." Caitlin's gaze slid over to Colin. "And that's when the unmistakable sound of porn starts playing through the speakers."

Truly gasped. "No!"

Colin slunk down in his chair, looking like he wished he could slide under the table. Maybe sink straight through the floor. His blush had deepened, surpassing scarlet and leveling up to burgundy, the splatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose disappearing entirely as he chewed grumpily on his roasted brussels.

"Yes!" Caitlin cackled. "And it wasn't just a little light moaning, either. I'm talking skin slapping, ooooh yes, fuck me harder! Need your come! Need you to fill me up! Want it dripping out my ass!"

"Fucking A, Caitie!" From the way he jerked, and Caitlin immediately yelped, he'd kicked his sister under the table. "Truly doesn't need a play-by-play and I don't need to hear you make those noises ever again."

Colin scrubbed a hand over his flushed face; it was a wonder his moles didn't streak across his skin like little melted chocolate chips.

Caitlin snickered, unrepentant, and grabbed another fingerful of fries. "My point is, there was X-rated filth pouring through the speakers for everyone in our family to hear."

Truly pressed a hand to her cheek, her own skin feverish beneath her fingertips. She could only imagine how mortifying that must've been. "What happened?"

"I died," Colin deadpanned, staring down at the table with haunted eyes, expression vacant.

"He wished he died." Caitlin leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. "What happened was, Mom goes flying up the stairs to Colin's room, since you know, he disappeared from the party ten minutes before and she's got two teenage sons, so she's not an idiot. And because our family is full of nosy fuckers, the entire McCrory clan follows, hot on her heels."

Truly turned to Colin, horrified. "No."

He cringed. "Yes."

"Mom's face is bright red, and her ears look like two little turkey timers about to pop. She's clearly desperate to put a stop to the soundtrack of some girl getting her brains fucked out by some dude's—apparently—massive cock, so she doesn't even knock. She just throws open the door to Colin's room and Colin lets out the loudest, shrillest scream I've ever heard before falling off his bed, dick out, and get this—breaking his wrist."

She wheezed. No way could that much misfortune befall one person in a night. "You're lying."

Caitlin held out her pinky. "God's honest truth. I am a great many things, but a liar isn't one of them. Tell her, Colin."

Colin brought his beer bottle to his lips and sighed. "It's true. Every last horrifying detail."

A giggle sneaked through the tight press of her lips. She didn't mean to laugh, but the mental image was so vivid, so mortifying, the sort of scenario that if it happened in a movie would have her diving behind her sofa or hiding in the bathroom until it was over. Once that one giggle slipped out it was as if the floodgates had been opened and she couldn't stop.

"Sorry!" she said between gasping laughs. "It's not funny, it's just—"

"Oh, it's hilarious." Caitlin grinned. "Trust me, I was there."

Truly clapped a hand over her mouth, which did shit to stifle her laughter. If anything, it just emphasized the shaking of her shoulders and made the ice click against the sides of her cocktail glass.

"Laugh it up, St. James." Colin ran his thumb along his mouth, wiping up foam left behind by his beer in a move that made the laughter die right on her lips. R-I-fucking-P. Her thighs clenched, and even though there was no way Colin could've possibly known, the sly smile that stretched across his face sure as hell made it seem like he knew the effect he had on her. "Fair's fair. Your turn."

"My turn to—oh. No, no, that's not happening. This was not a tit-for-tat deal."

In a move that was far from fair, Colin's tongue sneaked out, wetting his bottom lip. "Come on. Fess up."

"She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," Caitlin rushed to her defense. "That being said, if the spirit moves you to share..."

Colin's beer bottle hit the table with a thud. "If the spirit moves you?" He laughed, slumping back in his chair, shoulders loose, so much more relaxed than he'd been minutes before. "That's a new one."

Caitlin's curtain bangs parted with the ferocity of her sigh. "I was trying not to be overeager and scare her away."

"Sure." He smiled, knee bumping Truly's beneath the table. "If Truly's scared, she doesn't have to share."

A flush of disbelief tangled up with delight raced through her veins. "Was that a dare?"

Colin leaned back in his seat, legs sliding farther beneath the table so that it wasn't just his knee pressed against hers, it was his whole damn thigh. The denim of his jeans rasped against her bare skin, and yeah, those were definite goose bumps rising along the backs of her arms.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Was it?"

"I'd be more than happy to rise to the occasion"—yeah, she absolutely let her eyes dip to where his lap was hidden behind the table—"but embarrassment implies shame and me?" She shrugged. "I don't really do shame."

His brows rose as if to say oh, really? "I didn't peg you as a coward, St. James."

"I don't remember you pegging me at all, McCrory," she fired back, mouth moving faster than her brain.

She bit down on the straw of her drink, heartbeat quickening to an outright sprint as the implication of her words caught up with her.

Colin went delightfully pink, and her relief mingled with the bone-deep satisfaction of making him blush.

"You two do realize I'm still here, right?" Caitlin asked, voice dry.

Truly forced a laugh. "Truth is, Colin's had a courtside seat to enough of my humiliating moments. He doesn't need to know more."

Caitlin held up a hand. "Hold the phone. What are these humiliating moments and how does my brother know about them?"

She looked at Colin in alarm. That was a can of worms Truly did not want touched. "Um—"

"Caitlin shit her pants on a date once and called me crying, trapped inside the bathroom of the Cheesecake Factory. I had to bring her a change of clothes."

Caitlin pelted him with a beet, leaving a scarlet streak across his cheek. "You pinky promised you'd take what happened that night to your grave."

"That was before you blabbed about the Bluetooth." He reached for his napkin and met Truly's eye across the table, eyes twinkling in the dim amber-hued light of the bar. "All bets are off now."

"You know what? The next round is on you, dickwad." Caitlin manhandled Colin out of his chair.

"Caitie, do not stick your—"

Caitlin shoved her hand into Colin's back pocket and gave a crow of delight as she managed to slip his wallet free. "Ha!"

"I said one round. One."

"All bets are off, remember?"

Truly laughed. "She's got you there."

"Another?" Caitlin asked, nodding to the nearly empty highball glass in front of her.

She shouldn't. There were a dozen reasons to say no, right on the tip of her tongue ready to be rattled off one after the other, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay and have another drink and revel in Colin's thigh pressed with intention against hers, a solid line of heat spanning from her knee to her hip.

Truly only felt a passing pang of guilt for wishing she and Colin were alone, a pang she quickly shoved down. She couldn't help how she felt any more than she could help what she wanted.

And right now, she wanted that drink.

"Yes, please."

With a jaunty salute, Caitlin skipped off to the bar, Colin's credit card in hand.

"Thanks for the save," she said, now that they were alone. "I wasn't looking forward to reliving my humiliation in front of your sister."

That look had returned to Colin's face, the one where he stared at her like she was the Sunday crossword. "Humiliation would be if the attraction weren't mutual." Hearing it put so plainly put a funny but not altogether unpleasant knot in her stomach. "Humiliation would've been if I had gotten that screenshot and said something along the lines of, Gosh, Truly, I'm flattered."

Hypothetical or not, she cringed.

Colin laughed. "See? Not humiliating." He slid the beet salad toward her. "Eat up before my sister lodges another vegetable at my head."

"You kind of deserved it." She popped a quartered beet in her mouth before reaching past Colin for a buffalo wing. "That story you blabbed? Now that was mortifying."

"Eh, it was you or her. Sacrifices had to be made."

"And you chose me? Shucks, I'd tell you I'm flattered but we've already established that phrasing sucks."

Colin smiled, eyes dropping to her plate. "Did you know the history of the chicken wing is disputed?"

The question took her off guard enough that she laughed. "Random, but all right, I'll bite. Disputed how?"

Colin had a perfectly good plate of wings sitting beside him and yet he chose to steal the wing off her plate. That would've gotten under her skin a month ago, but now she just felt weirdly fond that he wanted her wing. The one she'd touched. "Okay, so there are two general theories. One's that Anchor Bar in Buffalo—sorry, is this boring? This is probably boring. We can talk about something else. Do you want to talk about something else?"

There was an odd note in his voice she desperately wanted to dispel, a twist to his lips she wanted to smooth away. She reached for another wing and kept her hands to herself. Please remain seated and keep arms and legs inside at all times. "Anchor Bar in Buffalo... what's the 411? What's the hot gos, McCrory? Tell me everything. Don't leave me hanging."

Colin laughed and something inside her eased. "Settle down. The year was 1964."

"1964." She nodded as if she knew a damn thing about the '60s other than civil rights, counterculture, the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Twiggy. "A good year."

"Even better when you learn that the Bellissimo family of Buffalo claim that to be the year they invented the buffalo wing. Now, there are several conflicting stories circulated by the family and others about how exactly the buffalo wing, as we know it, was born, but what's more interesting is that John Young, a guy who moved from Alabama to Buffalo in 1948, began selling wings fried and served in a tomato-based Mumbo sauce in 1961. He claimed the Bellissimo family didn't start selling wings as a regular menu item until, get this, 1974."

"Hot gossip indeed."

Colin stole a celery stick and tore it down the middle, dipping one half in ranch and the other in blue cheese. "Just wait. Young also claimed in an interview that Frank Bellissimo used to come to his restaurant and eat wings. Even though Anchor Bar still claims to be the home of the original chicken wing, history's not on their side."

"Juicy," she said. "And you know all of this, how?"

Colin reached for his beer. "Uh, too much time spent on Wikipedia?" he admitted, bringing his pint glass to his lips. "And I have trouble sleeping. Side effect of Adderall. I have a bad habit of forgetting to take it and then taking it too late." He set his glass down. "I have a tendency to latch onto a topic and—"

"Obsess?"

Colin thumbed away the foam from his upper lip. "I was going to say hyperfixate, but sure, that works."

"So, this week it's buffalo wings?"

"Technically, I started researching pizzle, which naturally led to bulls, which led to buffalo, and that led to buffalo wings."

"Naturally." She nodded. "So, what else does Colin McCrory research in his spare time?"

Colin paused, staring at her like he was weighing his next words against the look on her face. Whatever he was searching for, he must've found because he asked, "Still don't know what you want?"

And that sudden segue warranted a drink. Truly reached for her glass and—awesome. Empty. "I don't know."

Screw it. She stole Colin's pint glass, erasing the bitter aftertaste the lie had left behind with a mouthful of equally bitter beer. Blegh.

Colin's lips twitched, not even trying to hide his amusement as she wrinkled her nose and pushed his glass away. Far away. "You don't know what you want, or you don't know whether you don't know what you want?"

"I—hold on." She kicked Colin right in the shin. "You didn't answer my question."

"I was getting to it." He locked both his ankles around hers, effectively trapping her leg against his. "Nice deflection, by the way. But I'll let it slide. This time."

"How gracious of you," she muttered, cheeks burning as Colin's foot trailed up the back of her bare calf.

He smiled and—how was he so calm? How was he not practically vibrating out of his skin like she was? Did he even realize he was playing footsie with her? No one could possibly be that oblivious.

"See, I thought that might be the case. You not knowing or not knowing about not knowing," he teased. "So, in addition to pizzle and buffalo wings, I've also been researching non-date dates."

"Non-date dates," she repeated. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, I like you, is the thing. And I enjoy spending time with you. I'd like to spend more time with you, and at some point, in the—hopefully—near future, I'd love nothing more than to take you on a date. A real one. But I also respect that right now, you're not ready for that." He raised his glass, his mouth pressed to the same side of the glass her lips had touched, and she had to fight a shiver at how close to being a facsimile of a kiss it was. How much she'd rather he press his mouth to hers directly instead. "But I'm not a quitter. So, I was thinking we could go on a few... test runs. Unconventional outings. No dinner and a movie, I promise. I won't even bring you flowers."

"A test run." She couldn't stop repeating what he'd said, but she felt like she should be afforded a little grace. He'd thrown a lot at her.

"Get you used to the idea. Or, if you wind up hating spending time with me, that can be that and I can at least say I tried."

"You could end up hating spending time with me."

"Doubtful."

She shivered under the warmth of Colin's gaze.

"Tell me about these non-date dates," she said, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile, eager and painfully obvious. "I should know what I'm getting myself into before I actually agree to anything."

"Okay, let's see... Ikea."

Her jaw dropped. "You want us to go to Ikea? The place that's known for testing relationships?"

"Ah, ah, but that's the brilliance of it. We aren't in a relationship." He grinned and she'd swear she could hear the unvoiced yet. "And I really need a new bookshelf."

Against all odds, she was charmed. "You want to drag me on an errand. So you can buy yourself a bookshelf."

"Could be fun."

"So could sitting and watching paint dry." With Colin, it just might.

"I'll add it to list," he joked.

"What else you got, McCrory? You want me to drive you to the dentist? Take you to get your tires rotated, maybe?"

"Bowling," he said, leaning across the table. She held still, heart pounding and stomach dipping as Colin thumbed away a streak of sauce at the corner of her lip.

Telltale heat gathered between her thighs as he popped his finger in his mouth and sucked the sauce off.

"Bowling?" she echoed faintly, breathless. "I'm, um, I'm pretty sure bowling is a traditional date activity."

"But what you don't know is that I suck at bowling," he said, nudging aside the plate of wings so he could rest his elbows on the table. "Planning an activity in which you suck doesn't scream first date to me. Bonus, you'll get to watch me make a fool of myself."

"Sweeten the deal, why don't you," she teased, trying to regain her footing after finding herself on less than solid ground. "You've really put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

A lot of thought into her.

"Hyperfixation," he joked, a delicate pink flush creeping up his throat. "Curling is another option. There's nothing sexy about curling. Or we could take a hot yoga class together and work up a sweat in a decidedly platonic fashion."

She could perfectly picture how the sweat would bead at his hairline and drip off his stubbled jawline, slide down his throat, gather in the shallow bowl formed by his collarbone. The same path she'd take with her mouth—if that was something she did. Something she allowed herself to do.

"Or boxing, maybe," he continued, none the wiser to her sordid thoughts. "Do a little sparring of the nonverbal variety. Or, if you don't feel like going out, we could always watch Netflix and—"

"What?" She snorted. "Chill?"

Colin threw his head back, his laugh coming from deep inside his chest, the sound sending another shiver down her spine. "Only in the literalist sense. I was honestly going to suggest we watch Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern. He travels the world eating regional foods that are generally perceived as gross. You know, like cow cod soup." He smirked. "But good to know where your mind is at."

She gathered the hair up off the nape of her neck, skin feverishly hot. "Shut up."

"Not even going to deny it?" he asked, brows rising, unmistakable surprise splashed across his face.

"What would be the point?" She was a terrible liar; he'd see right through any lie she told, and it would just become one more item added to the list of things she knew he knew that they weren't talking about.

All of this pretending was exhausting.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out except for a stuttered exhale. He scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, fingers rasping against his stubble, his narrowed eyes sweeping her face, a fiery flush following in their wake. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying—" Screw it. "I'm saying I like flowers, okay?"

He blinked rapidly. "You—you like flowers. Okay."

"Don't be obtuse, McCrory." She crossed her arms. "I'm telling you I like flowers. I like flowers, and I'll go help you pick out your stupid bookshelf from Swedish hell if you promise to buy me meatballs and—and I don't know what the fuck curling even is. And if I'm going to work up a sweat with you, it's sure as hell not going to be doing yoga, hot or otherwise. That's what I'm saying."

His forehead smoothed, his eyes darkening, his lips parting, and she wanted to kiss him, wanted it more than she'd ever wanted to kiss anyone. She wanted to draw that plump bottom lip between hers and bite down. Hear what noise he'd make when she did. "Are you saying—"

"Yeah," she breathed. "I'm saying I want to—"

"Holy shit."Caitlin appeared, weaving her way through the crowd. She set a fresh pint in front of Colin and a new cocktail in front of Truly. "That line was insane."

Colin gathered his wits before she could. "I don't see a drink in your hand?"

"Well spotted." She grinned. "This is Rochelle." She jerked her chin toward the stunning dark-skinned Black woman standing behind her. "There's a 24-hour donut shop across the street from her place. We're gonna check it out. Think you can make it home on your own?"

"Sure," Colin said. "Be safe."

"Always am." Caitlin blew a kiss at them, already backing away. "Have fun, you two! Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That sure limits things. Not," he said, stealing the thought right out of her head.

Truly sipped her drink and tried to ignore the ferocious fluttering inside her stomach, like the butterflies inside her had gone feral.

"I should probably be getting home," she said. "Long day tomorrow and all that."

Colin stood, leaving his beer untouched. "I'll head out with you."

Truly stepped out onto the sidewalk and into a wall of rare humidity. The weather was unseasonably warm for this time of year and the earlier rain shower had left the air heavy and her skin sticky damp. Good thing she lived right around the corner.

"Where'd you park?" Colin asked, stepping out of the bar after her with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his dark jeans, snug fabric drawn obscenely around his slim hips, thighs filling out the denim like the pants were made specifically for him.

Truly jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I actually live a couple blocks that way on Bell."

After Caitlin had named the bar, Truly had decided that hunting for parking on Saturday sounded like an unnecessary hassle. She'd saved herself the headache and parked at her place, walking over instead.

He frowned. "Bell and what?"

"Bell and Elliott."

At that, his frown deepened. "I think you and I have a different definition of a couple of blocks."

"It's only four."

Colin looked up at the sky, too much ambient lighting from streetlights and stoplights and buildings for there to be any stars. But the moles on his face and neck could easily be traced into constellations. "Not that I don't think you can take care of yourself, but can I walk with you?" He lifted his head, and she was too slow, her reflexes far from finely honed enough to look away before his eyes met hers, his gaze trapping her, making it impossible for her to look anywhere but at him. "I'd sleep better knowing you made it home safely."

Maybe it was a line, but she didn't care.

"Sure." Her heart raced. "I'd like that."