But my heart had its own hesitations. I hated the gnawing sense that if I hadn’t declared my feelings last night, we would have kissed, cuddled, gotten each other off, and then happily fallen asleep. Niall was my cautious, courteous giant and I knew that his desire to treat sex with reverence was eclipsed only by his new desire to show me he could try to be what I needed.

It took me only a few minutes to use the bathroom and wash my hands and face. The soap, the towels, the entire room smelled like Niall. I’m sure if I were to press my nose to my skin I’d find that I smelled like him, too.

I tiptoed out of the bathroom and down the hall, where our clothes were scattered all over the floor. The chair sat empty in the middle—a reminder that he hadn’t taken me to his bed, but had me right there in the living room. Twice. I tried not to read too much into that. Maybe he simply needed me right then. Or, maybe sex in his bed felt like a new, scary frontier.

My bra hung off one arm, my skirt was a few feet away on the rug. I gathered everything up, a flash of memory replaying with each item I found.

His eyes as he’d slipped off my shirt.

The sight of him sucking my breasts.

The shape of his mouth when I’d pulled off his belt.

The way it felt when he finally, finally pushed inside me.

The flash of fear on his face when I’d told him I loved him.

I could hear Niall beginning to stir as I pulled on my clothes, and I wished I’d managed to slip out before he’d woken. I was embarrassed. But I knew he would never bring up the fact that we had sex last night way before either of us expected to, so of course I would have to.

But not even I, compulsive discusser of all things, wanted to have the conversation we needed to have.

So, about last night . . . did I unintentionally manipulate you into having sex with me? Or are you just so unwilling to trust your own instincts that you gave in to what you thought I wanted?

“Ruby?” he called out, voice gravelly with sleep.

I walked down the hall in bare feet, my steps muted on the wood floors. He sat up when I entered, the sheet falling to his waist as he took in my clothes, the shoes in my hands.

“Hey,” he said, but it was more like a question. His expression still carried the weight of drowsiness but in his eyes was a clear note of confusion. Guilt and irritation wrestled in my stomach and I pressed my hand there, telling them both to knock it off.

“I forgot something,” I said. It was a lie, and I could tell by the way his face fell slightly that we both knew it. “I need to run home before work.”

“Now?” He sat up at the side of the bed, his hair an adorable mess and miles and miles of bare leg stretching to the floor. Wow. “I can drive you.”

“No, it’s okay, I—”

“Ruby, stop,” he said, voice deep and firm. “Let me just get some clothes on.”

He stood, completely naked, and out of some spontaneously polite instinct I looked away—very obviously—instead staring at the far corner of his room.

He noticed, and of course he did. I was acting like a twitchy lunatic.

“Are you all right?” he asked, stepping into a pair of track pants. “It’s not like you to avert your gaze when I’m nude. In fact, you’re usually quite the leering pervert. ”

He was teasing me. He was trying.

I shrugged, looking back at him but only able to really look at his face. “Just mildly panicking.”

Just realizing that I told you I loved you after only a few weeks together and the craziest part is it wasn’t a lie.

Just realizing I think you had pity sex with me last night.

Just realizing I’m probably freaking out for no reason and really should just leave right now and get some coffee and food before I do something stupid like overshare all of this.

“Do you want to sit on my bed and tell me what has you ‘mildly panicking’ after I shagged you roundly until only a couple of hours ago? I would think you’d be too worn-out for conscious thought before seven thirty in the morning. I certainly am.”

I looked up at him, at his teasing tone, and smiled weakly. “Maybe over dinner tonight?”

He nodded, eyes narrowed as he studied me. And like that, I’d flipped the switch in him. The overthinking switch. The holy-shit-what-happened-last-night switch. “Okay.”

Fuck.

I slipped into my flats and ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to tame it just as his phone rang on the bedside table.

He bent, looking at the screen and then at the clock. Hesitating, he murmured, “I’d better take this. If you’d just . . . ?”