I take another step back. “You want to know what I want?”

His lips curve, hopeful but cautious. “I’m here to serve.”

“I want you to tell me about Asia.”

He stiffens. “What?”

I lift my chin and take a step forward. “Asia,” I repeat. “I want you to tell me about her.”

If I thought he was guarded before, I was wrong. So wrong. His shields are completely up now and he’s gone entirely unreadable. He’s not even tense anymore, just . . . blank. “I don’t talk about her. Ask me for anything else.”

“Anything as long as it’s just about sex, right?” I know I’m not being fair, but that doesn’t change how much Della’s words hurt me. “That’s what this is about, right? So come on, let’s fuck. There’s a closet right there. Come on, Sam. You’re using me for your image and I’m using you for sex. Della told me everything.”

If I’d hoped Della was lying, that hope dissolves when he flinches. “Della doesn’t know how I feel about you. Does it matter why we started this? Does it make any difference how we got here?”

“It matters.”

“The only thing that matters to me is that I had an excuse to forgive you for last summer. I finally had an excuse to get over my stupid pride.”

“I saw you,” I say. “I saw you kissing her.”

“What? Who?”

“Two years ago. I saw you kissing Asia and you’d made me no promises, so I wasn’t allowed to be angry.”

His face softens, as if maybe some of those defenses are coming down. “You saw me kissing her.” He steps closer and skims his thumb along my jaw. “That’s why you shut me out.”

“I have to protect my heart.” I close my eyes when the words register in my own ears. I’m revealing too much. “Can we not do this?”

“Do what?”

“This thing where you act like you don’t despise me for what happened last summer, and I pretend I’m okay with this being just about sex or your image, or whatever the hell this is about for you.”

“I told you I couldn’t hate you. Regardless of how I feel about last summer, I don’t hate you or despise you or loathe you, or any other verb shy of want and crave and kind of dig you.” He gives a shaky smile. “This isn’t just about sex, Rowdy. It never has been. Not for me. I like you. I like being with you and making you smile, and, yes—” He steps even closer until my body is pressed against his and I can feel his heat. He lowers his voice. “It’s true. I like fucking you. But this is about more than that.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. How long have I wished to hear those words from him? And I get them now, after learning what I have about River, about Connor.

“I’ve seen you go on all these dates. I’ve watched you share meals and conversation with these men who are so unworthy of you, all for the chance that maybe something could happen with one of them. I wanted to punch them when they touched you. You gambled on them, why not me? I don’t know what’s going to happen here. All I’m asking is that you give it a chance. Give me a chance.”

“You said you don’t do strings, and I—” I study my hands and take a breath. My pride wants to get in the way of saying what I need to say. “You don’t do strings, and I want strings.”

“Strings are overrated.” He tilts my face up until I meet his eyes. “I’ve never been any good with strings, but I’m damn good with ropes.”

Chapter Nineteen

Sam

Liz came home with me. Despite Della’s best efforts to sabotage our night, she came home with me, and tomorrow morning, I get to wake up with her in my bed. What a lucky bastard am I?

The truth is, I’m grateful Della decided to pull out the claws tonight. Since that night I went to Liz’s house to tell her about the baby and Asia, I’ve believed she shut me out because she didn’t want me. But that wasn’t it at all.

“I have to protect my heart.”

A couple of years ago, I would have agreed that she did need to protect her heart from me, but now I don’t want her to. I want her to let down her defenses and take a chance. I want her to hold my hand and fall with me.

“Your family seems perfect.” She shrugs in my arms.

I take her shoulders and turn her to face me. There’s something strange about the way she’s looking at me—as if she knows more than she’s telling. “We’re not perfect, Rowdy. No family is perfect.”

“Well, yeah, I guess they do have you.”

I poke her side, right where she’s ticklish, and she curls into herself and squeals. “What was that?” I ask.

“You’re clearly the black sheep,” she manages between giggles.

I go after her sides again and she tries to scoot away from me, but I hold her fast, pinning her arms and rolling on top of her, my knees on either side of her hips. God, she’s beautiful. Something in my chest teeters, like my heart is off balance from just looking at her.

“Your father is obviously proud of you, Sam,” she says, her face serious now. “You’re so much like him.”

I close my eyes and roll off her. “I don’t want to be like my father.” Is that really my voice? That weak, small, croaking sound? It came from my mouth, but God. It doesn’t feel like mine.

“Hey.” She curls into me, propping herself up on one elbow, the other hand on my bare chest, her fingers splayed as if they’re trying to find my heart. “I mean that in a good way. Your father is an amazing man. I wouldn’t be working for him if I didn’t believe that.”