“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly, nodding toward my left knee.
I take a pull from the bottle, avoid her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You always say that,” she murmurs, not accusing, just certain.
For a while, we just sit, the sound of the fridge kicking on and the tick of her wall clock filling the silence. It isn’t uncomfortable—if anything, it’s too comfortable.
“You always this handy?” she asks, tipping her bottle toward me.
“Not bad with a wrench,” I admit. “Useless with anything that requires reading directions.”
Her mouth quirks. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind the next time something else decides to explode.”
The air shifts on that—next time. Those words hang between us, heavier than they should.
I take another pull from my beer, trying to ignore the way her knee brushes mine when she leans back against the couch. The contact is small, incidental. It doesn’t feel that way.
She shifts closer, bottle balanced on her knee, her gaze dropping to my mouth before darting away. My pulse spikes.
I set my beer aside.
“Charlotte—”
Her name comes out rough, more confession than word. And then she’s leaning in, close enough for her warmth and the scent of her to take over. Her lips brush mine once, light, like she’s testing the ground. And then I’m gone, tilting into her, claiming more, because holding back hasn’t worked for weeks.
Her hand finds my jaw. My hand fists in the hem of her shirt.
The kiss goes from tentative to fierce, stealing the air from my lungs.
Suddenly the couch isn’t enough.
Chapter Thirteen
CHARLOTTE
Idon’t know how we make it to the bedroom. One second we’re tangled on the couch, his mouth hungry against mine, and the next I’m stumbling backward down the hall to my bedroom—my hand fisted in his shirt, tugging him with me.
He’s careful with his knee, but his grip isn’t careful at all. One hand cups the back of my neck, the other slides under my shirt like he’s memorizing the curve of my waist. By the time we hit the bed, my pulse is a roar in my ears.
“Charlie.” My name in his voice is rough, broken open.
His weight shifts, cautious around his knee, but the kiss doesn’t slow. His mouth moves against mine like he’s been starving for this, and the heat of it drags me under. He’s always been incontrol, always measured, but now he’s unraveling for me. I arch into him, fingers curling in the cotton of his shirt, desperate for more.
I tug at his shirt until he peels it off, heat rolling off his skin, every muscle hard and tense. His mouth finds mine again, then trails lower, slow enough to make me ache.
When my hand skims down his thigh, I brush the rigid edge of his brace. He breaks the kiss with a low moan.
“Brace,” he mutters. His fingers work at the straps, impatient.
“Let me,” I whisper, sliding down to kneel beside him. One by one, I undo the Velcro, easing the bulky thing free. His gaze never leaves me—sharp, unguarded in a way I’ve never seen. When it’s off, I set it gently aside, my hands lingering on the solid muscle of his thigh.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breath ragged.
“Charlie.” His voice is low, rough. “I don’t have any condoms.”
For a beat, the air between us goes still.
“I don’t either,” I admit, heart pounding as I hold his gaze. “But—I’m on birth control. It’s okay.”
