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“Henry Aaron Cole!”

“Don’t you full-name me, Norah Abigail Gold. I didn’t say a thing.” A devilish grin spreads across his lips.

I weave my fingers through his and tug his arm, leading him through the familiar path of his house, up the creaking stairs, and into his bedroom.

Once we’re both inside, I push the door closed with my foot, leaning against it. I suck in a breath of the space I once knew so well. The grayish-brown nightstands I helped assemble when we were fourteen, though Henry would say I just bossed him around while holding the useless instruction packet. The hidden picture of us from my bat mitzvah that I haven’t forgotten, that had maybe been telling me everything I needed to know, but was too scared to understand, this whole time.

Henry walks toward me with intention, placing his palm on the door above my head. “Hey,” he says softly. His other hand tilts my chin up, and his mouth descends on mine for one slow, deadly kiss. He takes another step into me, until my back is flat against the door. His teeth scrape against my bottom lip, and a soft whimper escapes from my throat.

I’m immediately embarrassed by the desperate sound and pull back.

Henry rests his cheek on his arm, palm still flush against the door, and turns down to look at me. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His voice, filled with want, tells me that I have no reason to be self-conscious about anything. I feel the low throb between my legs. More, my brain chants, and I reach for his loosened tie, separating the thin silk fabric until it comes free in my hands. I want to toss it like it doesn’t matter and move right on to his shirt’s buttons, but the tie feels expensive, so after a beat of consideration, I politely hand it back to him.

Henry laughs. “Thank you,” he says, placing it on the dresser, and I can tell by the way he quickly smooths the silk that I made the right call.

“So, uh, you bring a lot of girls back here?” I ask, immediately cursing myself. Being around Henry removes every filter I have. Or almost all of them, I think, that one four-letter word still stuck in my throat.

What is happening to me? I’ve had plenty of sex—good, great, satisfying, mind-numbing. I know how to be sexy, enticing, alluring. I normally know what I’m doing and feel confident in it. But here I am, my heart ramming into my rib cage, causing me to ramble like an idiot with the one person who matters most.

“Here?” Henry laughs, running his hand along the front of his throat. “No, Norah, I’ve definitely never had a girl in here before.”

“Really?”

“The whole time I lived under this roof, I was hopelessly in love with my weird next-door neighbor,” he says pointedly.

“And after?” I pry, grabbing his arm and spinning him back around to me so I can start to work on the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

“I’ve never brought a girl home to this house. Now, New York is another story, but—”

“But we’re not in New York right now, Hen.” I finish the last button and slide the shirt down his shoulders.

He lets it fall to the ground, all of his focus turned to me.

“We certainly are not. Norah Gold is undressing me in my childhood bedroom. I’ve had dreams about this, you know.”

“Yeah?”

I wait for him to respond, telling me every sordid detail of this fantasy, but his eyes are distracted, floating over me.

“I remember this.” He reaches down and slowly pulls the worn pink sweatshirt over my head. “You got this on that trip to Michigan in eighth grade.”

I nod as he holds it in one hand, the other running up and down my side.

“It’s still so soft.”

“It was my favorite. I thought I’d lost it.” I trail off as his hand traces my skin.

“I could say the same about you.”

His statement hangs heavy in the air, loaded. My heart cracks open a little more for the man standing against me. I momentarily curse myself for the undergarments I put on today. A nude T-shirt bra and some cheap underwear from Target. I pray it doesn’t have holes in it, but I’m honestly not sure. I was so frazzled after Henry and I fought this morning that I barely registered dressing myself.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything sexier on underneath,” I say. “If I’d known this was going to happen, I would have—”

“I don’t care.” Henry’s eyes are fully locked into me.

We’re nearly back to where we were in that bed-and-breakfast—basically bare-chested, and fully fucking clothed below. I reach for his belt, his taut stomach sucking in deeper as I slide the metal clasp open, revealing a button, which I immediately undo. I let my knuckles graze his length as I unzip him. Henry seems to relax into me, having been freed from the constriction of those well-fitting slacks. I tug at the pants, wanting them off, and Henry slides them down, stepping out of them with ease. My hand moves to the band of his boxer briefs, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me.