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“Good. Because Rust is sexy. Rustin, though? I don’t know about that,” I admitted with a giggle.
“Hey!” he protested.
“Sorry! Rust sounds distinguished and powerful and sexy. But ‘Rustin’ kinda makes it sound like you’re old and breaking down, you know? Like you’re actively rusting.”
He snickered. “Iamold, Isabelle.”
“Oh, stop. You’re not that old.”
“I’m old enough to be your—”
I pressed my finger to his mouth and sealed his lips before he could say it. “Don’t. I don’t want to think about him right now.”
“Damn,” Rust grumbled. “Sorry.”
I’d stopped him before he could say the word, yet I was still too late. We were boththinkingit now, and the mood between us suddenly stiffened as the reality set in.
We’ddonethis.
There was no turning back now.
So what were we going to do next?
