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“Yes. No. I just fucking missed you. I’m not used to that. I got in my car three times to come get you, but I knew you couldn’t just leave in the middle of the day, so I forced myself to go back in the house. I’ve been sitting outside the garage for a fucking hour counting down the minutes until you got to finish.”

His honesty shocks me. Aren’t people supposed to hold stuff back when they first start dating? Is that what we’re doing? I’ve never dated before, but this thing between Anders and me feels too intense to simply categorize it as casual. But then what do I know? I have no experience with this.

“Are we dating?” I blurt.

“What?” he snaps. “No, we’re not fucking dating.”

He sounds angry, but I don’t know why. Is saying we’re dating putting a label on us? Is it too soon for that? My lack of experience is making me anxious, and I consider asking him to take me to the bus stop so I can get away from this awkward moment that I’ve created.

“Dating is what you do when you’re not sure if you want someone. I thought I made it clear exactly what I want…you.”

“I…”

“Henry, you’re my boyfriend, my fiancé or, fuck it, my husband if you say yes.”

Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband? How did we get from taking things slowly to husband?

TEN

ANDERS

Henry’s silenceis deafeningly loud. So loud that I can practically hear his thoughts, because he’s projecting his confusion so loudly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Giving him some space and not overwhelming him with my need for control is what I should be doing, but every time I open my mouth, the words that come out make me sound more and more unhinged.

Backing off is the smart thing to do, but I can’t do that. He’s mine. I feel the rightness in that conviction down to my core, and distancing myself feels impossible. But I need to figure out how to show him that I’m all in without strangling him with my own psychotic needs.

Neither of us speaks again until I slow my car to a stop outside my house. My dick is rock-hard, but after my outlandish exclamation that I’m ready to marry him, I need to slow things down and get to know more about him than just how pretty his cock is and how tight his ass will feel when I’m fucking him.

Sucking in a breath, I exhale slowly, forcing my body to calm. I repeat the action until my racing heart starts to settle, and I feel the fog of want and need start to dissipate.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, unclipping first my seat belt and then his, before reaching for my door.

“Starving,” he says, his voice quiet and breathy.

I’m glad that he’s reacting as strongly as I am, but his words perturb me. “What did you have for lunch?”

“I wasn’t hungry, we had that big breakfast,” he tells me airily.

Turning to look at him, I narrow my eyes. He’s lying. “I don’t like being lied to.”

“What?” his eyes go comically wide.

“You didn’t not have lunch because we ate breakfast. So, what was the real reason?”

“I told you I don’t normally eat breakfast.”

“Answer the question, Boy. Why didn’t you eat lunch?”

Pressing his lips together, we stare at each other for a long moment before his shoulders slump. “I usually bring lunch to work with me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything or make your lunch this morning like normal?”

“I need to go grocery shopping,” he admits, reluctantly, his cheeks blushing pink.

He’s not lying, but I don’t think he’s telling me the full truth either, but I don’t push him to explain. Instead, I ask. “So why didn’t you go and buy something at lunchtime?”

His cheeks bloom even redder as he lowers his gaze to his hands. “I don’t waste money on eating out.”

I don’t need to be a genius to read between the lines. He’s broke and didn’t buy lunch because he couldn’t afford it.