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“I…really don’t cook. But the chicken marsala came with the ingredients to make mashed potatoes and julienned glazed carrots, so I think I can manage.”

I lower to the sofa and he goes to the entertainment system. Miguel’sCoffeebegins to pipe through the wall speakers.

“I think,” he tacks on before sitting on the other end of the sofa.

“I’m sure we’ll survive,” I offer diplomatically. Just as Miguel hits the chorus and starts singing about coffee in the morning, we both begin to speak.

“Storm, I don’t really do this?—”

“Shae, will you go out with me?—”

We both stop, and he releases a soft chuckle while I take an embarrassed drink of my rapidly dwindling wine.

“I think what I was going to say, I’ve made perfectly clear over the past few weeks, so why don’t you go first.”

Shit.

Clearing my throat, I take the final glug of wine before putting my empty glass on the coffee table.

“Storm, what are we doing here?” I ask, moving my hand back and forth between our bodies.

“We’re getting to know each other, Shae,” he replies smoothly.

“To what end? So you can fuck me?” I almost slap my hands over my mouth.

The song changes and Storm appears contemplative.

“I won’t deny I want you in my bed, Shae.” The words are a low rumble, headed straight to my core. “But I want more than a quick fuck or two. I want to be with you. I want to court you. You know, I don’t mind having this conversation again, but just for the record, wehavehad this discussion before.”

My cheeks heat as I cringe internally because I’m annoying my damn self. We’ve talked about this, and things should be straightforward after the Ferris wheel.

And after our moment outside Hansen’s class.

And after every single text he’s sent me every day, asking how my day went.

Still, here I am, making the man reassure me again. Who likes repeating themselves? He’s made his intentions perfectly clear. Multiple times, in fact.

I’m the one who’s tripping and can’t get my head out of my ass.

How does the oldies song go? Put up or shut the fuck up.

“Hey,” he says, breaking me out of my beratement. “I mean it. We can talk this through until it clicks for you. I can be patient. I know you thrive on logic.”

He looks so not stressed about the situation before us, and it has the opposite effect of calming me down.

“Okay, but what does thatmean?” I ask, exasperated and throwing my hands up in the air.

Storm smiles and moves closer.

“I haven’t introduced you to my best friend Riale, have I?” he asks.

I shake my head, not sure where he’s going with this.

“He’s eight years older than me, and I met him when my dad assigned him as my bodyguard.”

I quirk an eyebrow.

“You have a bodyguard?” I ask, and he grins.