Page 133 of Puck Your Feelings

"Okay?"

"Yeah, you neurotic robot." He grabs my shirt and pulls me down for a kiss that tastes like yes and promise and the future. "I'll move in. But I'm not following your rules."

"You'll follow most of them."

"Some of them."

"We'll negotiate."

"With sexual favors?"

I pull back enough to look at him. "Are you trying to bribe me with sex to get out of doing dishes?"

"Is it working?"

"Absolutely not."

"Damn." He kisses me again, slower this time. "Worth a shot."

His hands slide under my shirt, fingertips tracing the muscles of my lower back, and suddenly the packing situation seems significantly less urgent.

"We should finish—" I start, but the rest of the sentence dies when Becker's mouth finds the spot below my ear that makes my brain shut down.

"Finish what?" he murmurs against my skin. "Packing On ourlast dayhere?"

"That was—fuck—that was the general idea."

"I have a better idea." He pulls back, eyes dark with want. "One last time. In this cabin. Where it started."

Where I first wanted to strangle him.

Where I first wanted to kiss him.

Where I first realized that wanting to do both simultaneously might be a permanent condition.

"The cabin where you drove me insane?" I ask.

"The cabin where you fell for my irresistible charm."

"Your chaos and complete disregard for organization?"

"Exactly." He grins, pulling me closer. "So what do you say, roomie?"

I glance at the door—unlocked. The window—curtains open. The pile of unpacked clothes—still very much unpacked.

Then I look back at Becker.

"Lock the door," I tell him.

His smile turns wicked. "Yes, sir."

The packing can wait.

Everything else can wait.

Right now, there's just this: him and me and the cabin where we learned how to be us.

And tomorrow, we'll take that home.