“I see how much pressure you’re under. I see how you’re trying to hold it all together. I see how scared you are that this thing with me and Tate is gonna blow up in your face.” My voice cracks just a little, but I keep going. “I seeyou, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her mouth parts, but no words come out. So I step in closer. Rest a hand against her waist, my thumb brushes the hem of her hoodie.
“And I know I’m probably the softer option. The easy one. The sweet one.”
“Carter—”
“But I’m also the one who would crawl through glass if you said you needed me. I’d drive through a hurricane, through the fucking apocalypse, if it meant making you feel safe again.” I lean in to press my forehead to hers. “Because I love you.”
I whisper it again, softer this time. “I love you, Haven.”
She exhales like she’s been holding it in for days. Maybe she has, and then her hands are in my hair, pulling me down into her, and we’re kissing like she knows I mean every single word. We don’t speak for a moment after. Her forehead rests against mine, our breathing uneven. I can feel her hands trembling where they’re still tangled in my hair. I know mine are just as unsteady.
“You meant it,” she says finally.
I nod. “Yeah. I mean it.”
She pulls back enough to look at me, her voice barely a whisper. “No one’s ever said it like that. Like it wasn’t a risk.”
“It’s not,” I say. “Not with you.”
Tate’s got his bag slung over his shoulder when he pokes his head into the kitchen. “Gonna head out for a few hours need to grab a couple things from home. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“Want me to go with?” I ask, not even sure why.
He just raises a brow. “No. You’ll just ask me if I’ve tried different oat milk brands again.”
“That was one time.”
“You said ‘but it’s frothy.’”
I flip him off as he grabs his keys and heads out. The door clicks shut behind him.
I glance over at Haven, who’s now sprawled across the couch with her laptop open and an evil little grin tugging at her lips.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Haven…”
She turns the screen toward me, eyes bright with mischief. “So I may or may not have found atotally legitimate, completely unscientifickink quiz.”
I blink. “You’re joking.”
Her grin widens. “You said you’d be open-minded.”
“That was before I knew you were gonna interrogate my sex life with a Buzzfeed-style checklist.”
“It’snotBuzzfeed,” she says. “It’s kink-compatibility-matching. Very serious research,” she wiggles her brows.
I groan and drop down beside her. “Fine. Hit me.”
She cracks her knuckles. “Okay, first question. Do you like being praised?”
I blink. “I mean, yeah?”
Her lips twitch. “That didn’t sound confident.”