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“The Notebook, Robbie?”

His mouth curves up into a lopsided grin. “It’s my favourite.”

“Ugh.” I collapse back against the sofa and settle in for two hours of romantic bullshit.

Unintentionally, I’m drawn into the plot, asking Robbie questions throughout. He answers each one expertly, and somehow, he’s managed to get closer to me—or maybe I’ve gotten closer to him. My feet are on his lap, one of his large hands resting on them. The heat from him isn’t as uncomfortable as it was earlier.

“I don’t understand why he still cares. She fucked off and left him for some rich prick. He should just move on. He’s hot, he can get whoever he wants,” I complain.

“She didn’t have a choice, her parents wanted her to marry well.”

“And she listened?”

“It’s the nineteen-forties, of course she bloody listened. Are you listening?” He points to the TV.

I fold my arms over my chest and carry on watching, too invested now to stop. “Oh, and now she wants him back because he’s made something of himself. And he’s going to let her walk right back in. Well done, Noah.”

Robbie looks at me like I’m insane. “It’s weird when you talk about him using your own name.”

“Well, you picked a film where the main character has the same name as me!”

“It’s my favourite film for a reason,” he grins.

I roll my eyes and kick him in the abs, making him huff out a breath. The main characters are yelling at each other in the pouring rain, and everything’s tense for a moment before he grabs her face and kisses her. My heart squeezes a little, and my eyes start to prickle.

I will not fucking cry over a romantic movie.

“It’s very dramatic,” I grumble. “No one’s ever kissed me in the rain.”

After a beat of silence, Robbie says, “I’d kiss you in the rain.”

I lift my head to find him grinning at me. I think he’s joking, but my eyes flick down to his mouth anyway. For a moment, I wonder what his lips would feel like. What it would be like to have that piercing roll against my lip.

I glance back up to meet his eyes. He looks too serious now, and it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

Robbie quickly shifts his gaze back to the TV, pretending like those words didn’t just come out of his mouth. He’s been flirting non-stop since I got here three weeks ago, but I assumed that was just Rob. He flirts with everyone. Sleeps with everyone, too, and it means nothing. Yet those words settle somewhere in my chest, and I don’t like the weight of them.

I slide my feet off his lap. There’s no way I can focus on the rest of the film properly now.

We eat dinner in silence. I’m not sure how I was supposed to respond to what he said earlier, but he hasn’t tried to laugh it off or follow up on it, so now we’re stuck in some awkward stalemate. All because he had to open his stupid mouth.

The evening settles in, and I’ve had enough of the pressure pulsing between us. I go upstairs to shower, trying to ignore the way heat pools in my stomach as I picture Robbie throwing me over his shoulder again. The veins in his arms bulging as he grips my arse. How he could pin me to the bed and⁠—

“No,” I growl to myself, turning the taps off. I dry myself and leave the bathroom in a rush, smacking right into a solid wall of muscle. My hand immediately goes to the towel around my waist, gripping it like a lifeline.

“Whoa there, Titch.” Robbie grabs my bare waist to steady me, fingers pressing into the skin there.

“I said don’t call me that.” I straighten my spine to gain an extra inch—useless, considering I only come up to his chin. His dark blue eyes glisten in the low lighting of the hall, fixed on my mouth.

He wouldn’t …

Warmth unfurls from my core, spreading all the way to my fingertips as I imagine him grabbing my chin, pressing his lips to mine and forcing me to yield.

Except he doesn’t.

He leans into me slightly, dipping his head. But then he pauses—waiting for me to make the final decision. And that’s all it takes for the guilt to seep in and pull me back.

I hate him for it. I hate that he won’t force me. I hate that he won’t silence the voices in my head that tell me I don’t deserve to want, not even for a fucking second. I hate that the next words out of my mouth are, “Don’t do it.”