I reached across him to fasten his seatbelt, then got in the car. He started singing—it wasn’t a song I knew—and waved his arms around like an enthusiastic symphony conductor.

If our conversation earlier hadn’t still stung so much, it would have been pretty funny.

We got to his house and it didn’t look like his brothers were home. I helped him out of the car and he leaned on me, limping on his booted foot. He kept singing, although it was more mumbling now.

I had to fish his keys out of his pants pocket, which made him giggle like a little kid. We went inside and I shut the front door behind us.

“Princess Squeaker,” he called. “Mommy’s home!”

His kitten came out and mewed at him. He stumbled forward, leaning over to pick her up.

“I’ve got her,” I said and scooped her into my hands while she squeaked in protest. “Let’s just get you to bed.”

“This way,” he declared and pointed to the hallway.

I followed him to the bathroom and waited outside the door while he went in. Princess Squeaker squirmed, her tiny claws sharp. Gavin started singing drunk opera while he used the bathroom.

“Your mommy’s a mess.”

He came out, his pants still undone, but I didn’t worry about that. Just followed him into what I assumed was his room. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boot and shoe.

Princess Squeaker thrashed, trying to get to Gavin, so I put her on the bed. “I’ll go get you some water.”

“You’re so great,” he said, absently petting the kitten. “You’re such a good friend. I really like you.”

“Thanks.”

I got him a glass of water from the kitchen and when I came back, he’d stripped off his clothes—all of them—and lay face down on the bed.

Was it bad that even though he was passed out drunk that I wanted to bite that adorable ass of his?

Probably.

The bed wasn’t made, so I pulled the sheet and comforter out from under him and covered him up to the waist. He shifted and mumbled something.

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t go.”

I slowly lowered myself onto the edge of the bed and ran my fingers through his hair. I wasn’t sure if I should touch him like this, but I couldn’t help it. “You want me to stay?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t want it to be a dream.”

“This isn’t a dream. I’m right here.”

“Okay. Good.”

I hadn’t planned on sleeping here tonight—and it probably wasn’t the best idea—but there was something about that drunk, sleepy voice of his.

“Stay with me,” he said again, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Please?”

That did it. I was sleeping here tonight.

I didn’t want to go to bed in my jeans or bra, so I took them off, but left the rest of my clothes on. That seemed like the thing to do, especially because Gavin was naked. Princess Squeaker cracked her eyes open and watched me warily as I slid into bed next to him. I had a feeling she wasn’t sure about sharing her space—or her mommy—with me. But ultimately, she went to sleep curled up next to Gavin.

And so did I.

I woke to the feeling of weight on my chest. Was there something on me? I blinked my eyes open and found myself on my back, looking up at the ceiling in Gavin’s bedroom. Gavin slept next to me, lying on his side. He shifted a little, a smile on his face.

It was about then that I realized the weight on my chest was his arm, and he was grabbing my boob.

Under my shirt.

His hand twitched, giving me a slight squeeze. I could feel my nipples harden and I turned my face toward him.

He peeked his eyes open and they suddenly widened. He yanked his hand off me and rolled away so fast he fell off the edge of the bed with a grunt.

I sat up. “Are you okay?”

He groaned and held a hand to his forehead. “Where am I? Is this my room?”

“Yeah, you’re home.”

“Why are you here? Oh shit, why am I naked? Oh my god, did I do it again?”

I smiled. “You drank too much so I brought you home. I don’t know why you took all your clothes off. You did that while I was in the other room.”

Groaning again, he rubbed his hands up and down his face. “I’ll be right back.”

I waited while he got up and went to the bathroom, walking gingerly without his boot. He came back and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, then chugged the glass of water I’d left on the nightstand for him last night.

“Better.” He put the glass down and eased himself back onto the bed. “I was grabbing your boob in my sleep, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, you were.”

He winced. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. You were sleeping.”

“Are you sure we didn’t…”

“Positive. You don’t remember last night?”

“I remember some of it. I went to the Caboose with Cara, and there was a lot of whiskey. And I remember walking home and then you picked me up.”

“I think you were trying to take a nap on the sidewalk.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “Way too much whiskey. Why did you come get me?”

“Cara called me.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, she said she got my number from your phone.”

“Man, I don’t even remember her taking my phone.” He glanced at me, one corner of his mouth hooking in a grin. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“You’re welcome. You were pretty funny, actually.”

“Drunk me is hilarious.”

“How is it that you barely seem hungover?”

“I’m a quick healer.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m complaining that you’re here, but… why did you stay the night?”

“You asked me to.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I’m not surprised you don’t remember that part. I’m not even sure if you were awake. But you asked me to stay, so I did.”

The smile he gave me was different than his usual dimpled grin. It was smaller, more subtle, but also somehow more meaningful.

“Thanks.”

This is where typical Skylar would have said something awkward and left. Darted away like a scared little mouse.

But I didn’t want to run this time. So despite the way my heart started to pound and butterflies fluttered in my stomach, I took a deep breath and drew on what little bravery I could find.

“Can we talk about yesterday? Not the drunk thing, I don’t care about that. I mean what you said before. I don’t agree.”

“You don’t agree with what?”

“With going back to being just friends without… you know, without the other stuff.”

His brow furrowed.

I kept talking fast, hoping I could get through everything I wanted to say before my courage ran out. “I know you’re not interested in a serious relationship, but I’m not either. I’m not asking you to date me or be my boyfriend. But I can’t rewind and pretend nothing happened, either. More importantly, I don’t want to.”

“Then… what do you want?”