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The elevator dings, and opens on the third floor. I lead the way down the hall, checking room numbers until I find ours. Once we get there, I slide the key card into the lock, and the light flashes green.

“After you,” I instruct, pushing the door open.

Evan steps inside, and I follow, letting the door swing shut behind us. The room is definitely an upgrade from last year. There’s a big king bed piled with way too many pillows, bedside lights hanging from the ceiling, and a big tiled shower with a glass wall.

Evan drops his bag by the heater and turns to face me. “Ready to make me forget my own name?” His playfulness is really shining through tonight, and I’m here for it.

I close the distance between us, my hand finding his hip and pulling him against me. “Someone’s eager. Miss me?” It comes across as teasing, but I really want the answer to be yes.

His breath hitches, and I can feel his heart racing beneath his jacket. “Hmm, maybeee. My memory is a little foggy, though. I think you need to remind me what I’ve been missing.”

And just like that, the last year dissolves into nothing.

He’s exactly as I remembered, and yet somehow so much more. The same messy brown hair, the same bright blue eyes that I hadn’t been able to shake all summer. But this year, he’s more comfortable with me.

I don’t know why that makes the thought of unraveling him sound even more appealing. Maybe it’s that I liked watching him fall apart for me before, and his confidence now is just one more layer to get through. Or maybe it’s proof that no matter how sure of himself he’s gotten, no matter how much distance or time sits between us, I can still be the one who gets past it. That he trusts me enough to undo him and put him back together.

My hands run up the front of his chest and I push the jacket off his shoulders, tugging it once it starts falling down his arms. He’s in a long-sleeved shirt that hugs him perfectly. I’d admire him more in it, but I need him naked. I grip the hem of the material and tug it over his head.

But I don’t go for his pants next. Instead, I lean in and kiss him, touching his chest with one hand and cupping his jaw with the other.

Our lips connect, and our kiss is full of a year’s worth of pent-up want, of unanswered questions, of lonely nights in two different cities. My mouth moves against his in exploration, tasting him, and he tastes like coming home, which is an interesting thought, considering we’re in a random hotel room in a town I can’t stand.

Away from him, I doubt everything. But right here, with Evan, I feel like I’m enough.

I walk him backward toward the bed, our lips still locked and our bodies pressed together. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress he falls back, pulling me down with him. I land on top of him, my legs slotting perfectly outside of his thighs. We grind against each other through our pants, and I can feel how hard he is, how much he wants this, wants me.

But like last year, I don’t want tonight to be a frantic race to the finish line. I want to savor this and explore every inch of him. I want to learn his body, to study every tattoo, to memorize every inch of skin, and hope it’ll all hold me over until next time. If there even is a next time.

I pull back, breaking the kiss, and he whines at the loss. “Marcus,” he protests, his hands trying to pull me back down.

“You’re going to stay, right?” I hear the words, and I don’t know why they left my mouth.

“Yes. As long as you want me to.”

“I do, then we can go multiple rounds.” I deflect instead of telling him how badly I want him to spend the night. How badly I want to take everything he’ll give me tonight despite knowing there’s no version of “I don’t want this to be temporary” that doesn’t sound insane after a few hookups and some texting.

Fuck, I can’t think about this right now.

Instead, I push off him and strip. Then I tug off his boots and work his pants down until he’s sprawled out nearly bare on the bed in front of me. The sight is making my mouth water.

“Even your socks are doing it for me,” I joke since it’s the only piece of clothing I didn’t remove.

“Got a foot thing, Marcus?” he says, wiggling his toes up at me.

“I’ve got an Evan thing apparently,” I admit.

Instead of answering with words, he sucks his lips between his teeth, but the smile is still apparent in the way his eyes light up.

Fucking hell. I need to touch him.

I crowd him, lean over him, and kiss him, attempting to memorize the shape of his mouth, the way his tongue feels against mine, and the little sighs he makes when I nip at his bottom lip. It’s a kiss that hopefully says, I’ve thought about this every day for a year since I can’t bring myself to say it with words.

The kiss deepens, shifting from tender exploration to raw hunger. His legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. The friction of our bodies sliding together is almost enough to undo me. I let my hands roam his body, relearning the planes of his chest, the feel of his jaw, and the powerful muscles of his thighs. I want to touch him everywhere, to feel every inch of him against me.

When I finally wrap my hand around his cock, he thrusts up into my grip with a choked cry. My thumb swipes over the head on every upstroke, spreading the bead of precum that’s gathered there.

“Marcus.”