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I’ve lived those same days.

Every single one of them.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” I admit.

Her eyes flash.

“You don’t get to say things like that now.”

“I know, but it’s true.”

“No, I don’t believe you.”

“That fucking hurts, Rusty. I deserve it, but it fucking hurts.”

Silence settles between us.

Heavy.

Electric.

She’s close enough that I can see the tiny freckles across her nose. Close enough that the faint scent of her shampoo drifts into my lungs.

Sweet jasmine and temptation.

My other hand reaches for her and slides behind her, pulling her into me.

I know if I don’t touch her, if I don’t get her as close as I can, I might lose my damn mind.

“You should tell me to leave,” I say softly.

Amanda looks up at me.

Really looks.

Like she’s weighing something.

Then she whispers, “I should.”

But she doesn’t.

And that’s all the permission I need.

I lean down slowly.

Giving her time.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Her breath fans across my mouth.

If she pulls away now—I’ll stop.

I swear I will.