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“No.”

Kell waits, and I realize I haven’t figured out nearly as much as I thought I had.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say.

“I figured.”

Despite everything, I almost smile. “You don’t know what I’ve been thinking.”

“You think a lot.”

“That’s not a character flaw.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Normally Kell would keep going until one of us laughed or the conversation wandered somewhere ridiculous. This time he lets it die. I’ve spent days missing exactly that.

“I don’t think everything between us was a mistake.”

“I never said it was.”

“I know. I’m saying I don’t think we have to throw away the parts that work because the rest doesn’t.”

He says nothing, leaving me to finish what I started. I wish he’d make this easier by misunderstanding me. Instead, he asks, “What parts?”

“We’re attracted to each other.”

“Yes.”

“And the sex is…” I let out a breath. “I don’t think either of us has any complaints.”

“No.”

“We’re adults.”

Nothing in his response helps me, so I keep talking because stopping now would mean admitting how this sounds. “People have relationships that aren’t about building a future. They spend time together, have sex, enjoy each other without making it into something more.”

“You want to have sex with me.” He says it without a trace of embarrassment, completely matter-of-fact.

“Yes.” My answer comes too quickly, which is probably because it’s the easiest truth in the room. He’s been here less than ten minutes, and I’ve already noticed the paint on his wrist, the open collar of his shirt, the way his jeans sit low on his hips.

“You told me that already,” he says.

I frown. “When?”

“The other night.”

“I didn’t.”

“You said you still wanted me.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“It is to me. I was never confused about whether you wanted my body.”

My stomach drops.

“Kell.”