That bright warmth in my chest turns cold and sinks into my gut. They make a cozy picture, sitting like that, and maybe he’s even a good guy and not some jerk using her for sex and hinting but never promising that it might become more.

That would be you, asshole.

I’m not enlightened enough to direct my anger inward, though, so instead, I clear my throat and set my jaw.

The guy lifts his head, and the smile falls from his face when he sees me. “You have company, Liz.”

Liz looks up, but her reaction is the opposite of her friend’s. Despite having avoided my calls, she lights up at the sight of me. Her eyes go a little bigger, her smile a little brighter. “What are you doing here?”

I look at him, then back to Liz. “Sabrina wanted me to bring over some files she said you needed for the campaign.”

They both stand. Liz shoves her hands into the pockets of her cut-offs, and her friend looks back and forth between us.

“I’d better get home,” he tells Liz. “I promised Mrs. Louise she could bring me dinner.”

“Thanks for the beer,” she tells him, but it’s all she can do to take her eyes off me. Eat it, loser.

The guy keeps his face neutral as he passes me, but just as he reaches the door, so low only I can hear, he says, “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, never taking my eyes from Liz. I push the door shut behind him, then stalk toward her.

“I didn’t know you were going to be in town tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” My voice is gruffer than I intend. Seeing her light up like that does something to me. I’m not sure I’m worth that.

She worries her lip between her teeth and stares at my empty hands. “You have files?”

“That was a lie.”

“Then why are you here?”

“For you.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She’s so damn sexy. She has her hair pulled onto the top of her head in a sloppy bun, and she’s in a loose tank and too-short cut-offs. She’s beautiful in an effortless way. She was probably wearing this while cleaning the apartment, but I hate that she had him here while dressed like that.

“Me?” she says. “Not Sabrina or your dad’s campaign or . . .”

“You,” I repeat.

She beams then shakes her head, taking the confidence from her smile. “I’m not sure I should, but I like that you came.”

“Do you like him?”

She frowns. “What? Who? George?” I arch a brow, and she sighs. “Did you really come here to play the irrationally jealous boyfr—” She snaps her mouth shut.

“It’s not about jealousy.” I shift awkwardly. I’m not good at this touchy-feely crap. I cross the room so I can be closer to her. “Though I’d like to state for the record that if I were your boyfriend, I would have punched him for the way he was looking down your shirt when I walked in the door.”

She wrinkles her nose. “He was? Really? That’s a little . . . tacky.”

“He’s a guy. He’s gonna look.” I wrap my arms around her and tug her against me. “But I don’t have to like it.”

“I don’t think it matters what you think about the way George does or doesn’t look at me. And it shouldn’t matter whether or not I like him.”

“It matters.”

She looks up at me through her lashes. “Sam . . .” All of that surprise and happiness that lit up her face when I walked in the door is gone. “What is this?”

With a gentle hand, I lift her chin. “This, as in you and me? As in what happened last night?”

She nods.

“Right now, my life is extra complicated.”

She steps back, but I wrap my arms around her, trapping her before she can run from what I have to say.

“Let me finish,” I whisper into her hair. I make myself loosen my grip, but damn it, the idea of her running scares the shit out of me.

* * *

Liz

Every time I’m with him, I feel this frantic rush in my chest, but I don’t know what I’m rushing toward other than heartbreak and misery.

He leans his forehead against mine. “The video, the secrets, Sabrina, my relationship with my father . . . all that shit is complicated as hell. But you and me? That’s about as simple as it gets.”

“Simple, just sex. Or simple, something more?”

“Are you asking if I’m still in love with you?”

I hold my breath and look into his eyes. Because that’s exactly what I need to know and am too afraid to ask.

“I never stopped loving you,” he says. “Even when loving you hurt more than I could bear. I didn’t have a choice. It would have been easier to choose to stop breathing. Loving you is part of who I am.”

Hope rises up, so strong and insistent in my chest that it hurts. After so many months of feeling beaten down, I don’t know what to do with hope, and I don’t know if my fractured heart is strong enough to hold it. “I love you too.”

He kisses my nose, then my eyelids, then each of my cheeks. When his mouth connects with mine, he sips at my lips like a man determined to savor something precious.

I draw in a ragged breath. “So, I’m just supposed to wait until your pretend engagement ends? Smile and be okay when you hold her for the cameras?”

“Can you go somewhere with me?”

He dodges the question. “Um, sure.”