I did. And I think you’re trying to kill me.

No, I’m not. And I really do want to know what changed your mind.

Because whenever you get over this sunburn, I have a few ILLUSTRATED ways in mind that you can say thank you. Do you get my drift?

I capitalized illustrated so she might pick up my hint. When she doesn’t respond right away, I put the car in DRIVE and head back to her place, assuming she didn’t get it.

When I get back to her apartment, I pull the chain lock across the door and yell out, “Red.”

“I’m in my bedroom.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes!” I can hear her laughing from here.

Setting the bags on the counter, I glance around again. I see a few personal things but not much, not even pictures.

“Are you coming?” she calls.

“I’ll be right there.” I throw the cold things into the fridge and freezer, grab a few water bottles from the pack I bought, the bottle of aspirin, the aloe, and walk down the hall. I know which room is hers immediately because there’s a candle glow from the doorway. Her bedroom is much like the living room—plain with very little in terms of décor. She’s lying on the bed with practically nothing on—as I said, she’s trying to kill me. She’s in a loose-fitting pair of lightweight sleep shorts and a thin-strapped tank top. Both are white. Both see-through.

“Hey, I got some stuff that should make you feel better.”

She glances up at me and I can tell there’s something bothering her. I take her phone from her clutched hand and when I do it chirps—a text from Tate Wyatt. I set it on the night table. “Wyatt? At this time of night?”

She shrugs. “He must have a question.”

“Well, it’s after hours, so you can contact him tomorrow, right?”

She stares at me as if contemplating what I just said but doesn’t move to grab her phone.

“Everything all right?” I ask as I set the things in my hands down on the nightstand.

“Yes.”

When I sit beside her, my stomach jolts. I want to hold her, to kiss her, to f**k her. But when I pull her chin toward me and stare into her eyes, I see tears.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m being stupid.”

“About?”

“I’m just surprised you ever gave me a second thought.”

I gently kiss her lips and whisper to her, “You’re the f**king sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Yes, I gave you a second thought.” Then I add, “Many second thoughts.”

Silence overtakes us as we both seem to get lost in our memories. When my lips graze hers again, she flinches. I pull back and take the aspirin bottle, pop the cap off, and pour out two. Then I twist the top of the water bottle off and hand her both. She swallows the pills. After I kick my sneakers off, I crawl up next to her so we’re face-to-face. I run my fingers through her strands of red hair and notice the blotchiness on the skin of her shoulders.

“Bell,” I say, caressing her cheek. “I remember the first time I saw you in the library. I remember every single detail about the night we spent together. And if you want to talk about it, I will. But there are some things that I think are better left in the past. I have this need to have you in my life. I don’t understand what it is, but I know I haven’t felt more whole or more alive in a very long time than I have with you these last six weeks.”

A few stray tears trickle down her face. “You called me Bell.”

“That’s your name.”

“I know but you’ve never called me that.”

I shrug and carefully wipe her tears away. I pull myself up on the bed and lean against the headboard. Patting my stomach, I say, “Come here.”

She moves over to me.

I understand where her sadness is coming from. Where we started is complicated, confusing even. I was with Dahl then and there’s nothing I could say to make what we did right, no, what I did, right. I try to calm her by combing my fingers through her hair. I would hold her, hug her, if I could. When her sobbing eases I lean over and kiss her head. After a few long silent minutes I say, “Sit up. Let’s put this aloe on you.”

She slides across the sheets before settling with her back to me and I lean over to whisper softly in her ear, “Lift your hair.”

I take a moment to collect myself, trying to control the impact she’s having on me. She’s barely dressed and it’s hard to control my desire. I open the bottle and rub the cool liquid in my hands. “This is going to tingle at first, but you’ll feel much better, I promise.” I carefully pat it on her shoulders and just feeling her smooth skin makes me want to do so much more.

She screams, “Ouch,” and I can hear a sob and with that any sexual thoughts I had disappear. Fuck, I hate this. I don’t want her to cry. “I’m sorry, baby. Almost done.” I pat her shoulders, her back, her chest. She’s beyond sunburned everywhere. When I’m done I stand up. “I’ll be right back.”

She nods, taking another sip of water.

I leave the bathroom with a washcloth soaked in cold water. I place it on her forehead and she grabs it. Her fingers touch mine and an electrical current exchanges between us. Emptying my pockets, I lie down next to her and she moves to my chest. She fits perfectly there. She rubs her fingers over the buttons of my shirt and I resist the urge to touch her. I settle for running my fingers through her silky-smooth strands of hair and breathing in her lemon scent.