And he hadn’t pushed. In fact, when I expected it to be weird, it wasn’t. When he’d been the only person I wanted to talk to about Dylan, he’d encouraged me. On the taxi ride home he’d told me I needed to go out, have fun. He told me he wasn’t going anywhere, and what we’d done was perfect. He told me to explore, and be happy. God, it just made me want him even more.

Deciding this was a losing battle and I would never get to sleep now, I sat up and went into the kitchen. I stared into the fridge, closing my eyes as the cool air floated along my heated skin. I was slick between my legs and even though it had been six days since Will had touched me there, I ached. I’d seen him every day for our run, and we’d had breakfast afterward on three of those days. It had been easy; with Will, it was always easy. But each time he was near, I wanted to ask if he could touch me again, if I could touch him. I could still feel the echo of every stroke of his fingers, but I didn’t trust my memory. It couldn’t possibly have been so good as all that.

I walked into the living room and looked out the window. The sky was dark but silver-gray, the rooftops glittering with frost. I counted the streetlights and calculated how many of them there were between his apartment building and mine. I wondered if there was even a chance he was awake, too, feeling even a fraction of the want I felt now.

My fingers found the pulse in my neck and I closed my eyes, feeling the steady thrum beneath my skin. I told myself to go back to bed. Maybe this was a good opportunity to sample the brandy Dad always kept in the living room. I told myself that calling Will was a bad idea and that there was absolutely no way that anything good could come from this. I was smart and logical and thought everything through.

I was so tired of thinking.

Ignoring the warning inside my head, I grabbed my things, stepped outside, and started walking. The lingering snow had been stomped down during the day and formed a thick crust along the sidewalk. My boots crunched with every step and the closer I got to Will’s apartment, the more the chaos in my thoughts settled into a steady hum in the background.

When I looked up, I was standing in front of his building. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and found his picture, typing the only thing that came to mind: Are you awake?

I almost dropped the phone in surprise when an answer came only a few seconds later. Unfortunately.

Let me in? I asked, and honestly, did I want him to say yes? Or send me home? At this point I didn’t even know.

Where are you?

I hesitated. In front of your building.

WHAT. Down in a sec.

I’d barely had time to consider what I was doing, turning to look back in the direction I’d come, when the front door flew open and Will stepped outside.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” he yelled, and then looked behind me to the empty curb. “For f**k’s sake, Hanna, did you at least take a cab here?”

Wincing, I admitted, “I walked.”

“At three a.m.? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“I know, I know. I just . . .”

He shook his head and pulled me inside. “Get in here. You’re crazy, you know that? I want to strangle you right now. You don’t just walk around Manhattan alone at three in the morning, Hanna.”

My stomach twisted with warmth when he said my name, and I knew I’d stand out in the cold all night if it meant he’d say it again. But he shot me a warning look, and I nodded as he led me to the elevator. The doors closed and he watched me from the opposite wall.

“So did you just get home from your date?” he asked, looking far too sleep-rumpled and sexy for my current state of mind. “The last you texted, you were getting in the cab to meet Dylan at the restaurant.”

I shook my head and blinked down to the carpet, trying to understand what exactly I’d been thinking when deciding to come here. I hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. “I got home around nine.”

“Nine?” he asked, looking completely unimpressed.

“Yes,” I challenged.

“And?” His tone was even, his face impassive, but the speed of his questions told me he was worked up about something.

I shifted from foot to foot, not sure exactly what to say. The date hadn’t been a complete disaster. Dylan was sweet and interesting, but I’d been totally checked out.

I was saved from answering when we reached Will’s floor. I followed him out of the elevator and down the long hallway, watching his back and shoulders flex with every step. He wore blue pajama bottoms and the outlines of some of his darker tattoos were visible through his thin white T-shirt. I had to push down the urge to reach out and trace them with my fingertip, to take off his shirt and see them all. There were obviously more than there had been all those years ago, but what were they? What stories hid beneath the ink on his skin?