“He was asking for it.”

“So be the bigger person and walk away. This isn’t who you are. You’re a lover, not a fighter.”

His eyes hold mine.

“Go and finish your shift. I’m going to bed.”

“You’re not coming back to the party?”

“No. My dickhead boyfriend spoiled my mood.”

He exhales heavily, disappointed in himself.

“Just go.” I point inside, and he turns and trudges back up the stairs.

“You’re really going to bed?” he asks me again.

“Yes,” I snap. I march past him down the corridor to our room as he follows me.

I open the door to our room, and I glance up at him.

“I’ll see you when I finish?” he asks hopefully.

“If you carry on like an idiot and get in one more fight tonight . . . so help me god.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” I march into the room, and he stands tentatively by the door. “And you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” I add.

He nods and then lingers as if waiting for something.

“And I’m not telling you I love you . . . because you’re just an idiot.” I turn down the blankets in a huff.

“I’m not telling you either,” he says.

I smirk, trying to hide my smile, and I know it’s going to be okay. “Good, don’t then.” I climb into bed. “Get out.”

His eyes twinkle with a certain something. “I think you have anger issues,” he says.

“So help me god, Christopher.” I throw a cushion at him. “Get out.” It hits the wall beside his head, and he smiles his first genuine smile.

“Good night, Grumpy.”

“There is nothing good about this night,” I lie.

The door quietly closes, and I smile into the darkness.

We fought, and he stayed . . . progress.

It’s just at 3:00 a.m. when I hear the door open. Christopher tiptoes in to the flashlight on his phone, undresses, and climbs into bed behind me and snuggles up to my back. He smells of soap, freshly showered, and I smile with my eyes closed.

He’s home.

It’s been a long night without him. Even when fighting, he was still missed.

“What time is it?” I mumble.

“Three.” He kisses my temple. “Go back to sleep, baby.” He kisses my shoulder from behind, and goose bumps scatter up my spine. He pulls my hair back and gently kisses my neck. “I’m sorry about tonight,” he murmurs against my skin; his fingers trail up and down my skin as he thinks. “I just can’t stand the thought of someone taking you from me,” he murmurs sadly. “It makes me fucking crazy.”

I can feel his erection as it grows behind me. Christopher Miles is a sexual being. This is his way of making up. He’s scared; I want to make him feel better.

I stretch my neck out, granting him access and taking the cue. His hand roams over my skin up to my breast, his thumb dusting over my nipple as he takes my earlobe between his teeth.

His erection digs into my hip, and even in darkness I can see it so clearly.

I roll over and straddle his large body. He stares up at me.

The air crackles between us.

I lift myself onto my knees and slide down onto his large erection. I rock from side to side to loosen myself up and grant him entry.

His length is thick and hungry. My body slowly sinks deep down onto his. He holds my hip bones as he stares up at me in awe.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” I whisper. “I’m all yours.”

He sits up in a rush, his lips crashing against mine as he kisses me and holds me close. Emotional overload. Too intense to try to contain. An intimacy that I never knew I needed.

We rock together in the darkness, feeding our bodies, surrendering to the feelings between us.

I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life, done things that I regret. But there is one thing in life that I do know for certain . . . I am utterly and irrevocably in love with the beautiful Christopher Miles.

We were meant to meet.

He’s the one.

Chapter 18

I wake to the feel of the bed dipping, and I frown as I drag open my eyes. Christopher is sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on knees. He’s wringing his hands in front of him as if the world is about to end. Waging a war against himself.

Ugh . . . so not in the mood for his dramatics today.

I put my foot on his behind and gently push him. “Can you go get me a coffee, please?”

He frowns over at me. “You want coffee?”

“Yes, please.” I need to keep him busy and out of his own head.

He stands. “Okay. I can do that.”

“We need some fruit too.”

He begins to dress. “On it.”

“Oh, wait, you have your course on today, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t start until ten.”

“Okay.” I close my eyes. I have so much to say about his behavior last night, but now is not the time. He’s still processing. I’m giving him some space to get his head around it.

He gets dressed. “Do you want to come?”

“Not really.”

He lingers, long enough that I look up.

“I’d like you to come.”

I exhale heavily and flick the blankets back. “Fine.” I get out of bed and pull some clothes on as he watches.

“How are you so even tempered all the time?” he asks.

“I’m not even tempered. I’m being the adult in our relationship.”

He frowns.

“Your turn is next week, when I’m being ridiculous.”

He gives me a stifled smile. “Is that what you do . . . take turns?”

“Uh-huh.” I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss his big beautiful lips. “As long as we take it in turns to be the adult . . . everything will be fine.”

“And if we be dickheads at the same time?” he asks.

“Then the outcome isn’t good.” I kiss him softly again.

He nods and stares at me as if I have taught him a sacred secret . . . how doesn’t he know this stuff? For a worldly man, he’s so inexperienced about all things relationship.

“Buying coffee and fruit is pretty adult.” He smirks as he takes my hand in his.

I smile. “I guess it’s your turn today, then.”

Ten hours later

We stand on the sidewalk with our backpacks on the cement. Christopher glances at his watch. “Where is he? The cab is going to be here soon.”

“He’ll come.”

I look up the street. To be honest, I’m getting a little worried he won’t. Eddie is meant to be here to say goodbye to us, but he hasn’t shown.

It’s so unlike him.

Our flight to Germany leaves in a few hours, and we can’t wait much longer. “Call him again.”

Christopher calls his number, and it rings out. He stares up the street in search of his little friend. “If I knew his address, I would go there.” He begins to pace. “Damn it, why didn’t I get his address?”

He calls him again. “What if something’s happened to him?” He’s beginning to get frantic.

“Don’t worry . . . he’ll come.”