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“Because I taught you that word.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re using it to tease me.”

His smile deepens. “Do you want me to move the towel?”

“Yes.”

My answer is out before I can make it less eager. A few days ago he needed me to explain privacy. Now he’s using the word to tease me and enjoying every second of it.

I stand. “You’re getting entirely too pleased with yourself.” I take the towel from him, hang it over the rod, and become very interested in smoothing it flat.

Behind me, Locke says, “You touched me there the other night.”

Every thought leaves my head.

I turn. “Yes.”

“It felt different from my hand.”

My pulse jumps. “I’d imagine so.”

“I liked it.”

“I gathered.”

He watches me. “And then you did something else.”

That lands considerably lower than my pulse.

“Yes.”

“I liked that too.”

“Also gathered.”

His attention stays on me, and the room suddenly feels smaller.

The open bathroom doorway frames my bedroom behind him.

“Come here,” I say, stepping backward into the room.

Locke follows, and by the time we reach the bedroom, the teasing has taken on an edge. His attention stays on me as late-afternoon sunlight falls across the foot of the bed and catches the new green willow woven through his chest.

My clothes are in the closet. My books are stacked crookedly on the nightstand. One of my shoes is lying under the dresser because I kicked it there this morning and forgot about it.

This room is mine. So is the bed.

Locke stops just inside, and I turn toward him.

“You’ve never slept in my bed.”

“No.”

“I’d like you to.”

He looks toward the bed and then back at me. “Sleep?”