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But why?

Because of Wyatt?

Because I’m still married, albeit only technically?

Because I’m worried about what people might think if they found out?

Fuck Wyatt.

Fuck my marriage.

And fuck all those people.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and remember all the reasons this is a horrible idea.

But tonight, I don’t care.

Tonight, I’m going to do something I want to do.

Tonight, I’m going to be selfish and sleep with a younger man.

“Hold on.” Joshua’s voice is a low rumble against my lips.

“What do you⁠—”

Before I can finish my question, he hoists me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist.

“Joshua!” I squeal, looping my arms around his neck as he carries me through the living room and up the stairs.

“Not to be presumptuous or anything.” A wicked smile curves his mouth as he hurries down the hallway.

“Presume away.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips just as he crosses the threshold into his room and lowers me until my feet find the floor.

A queen-size bed dominates the center of the room, covered in a navy duvet with striped accent pillows arranged by the headboard. A few framed photographs sit on a cherrywood dresser opposite the bed. An acoustic guitar rests in the corner, and I smile at the image of Joshua strumming it before going to sleep.

There are no piles of clothes.

No clutter.

No unnecessary décor or furniture.

Just the things he actually needs or cares about.

It’s strangely intimate seeing it. Like I’ve stepped into another part of his life.

“Everything okay? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” He lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s okay if you are. No pressure. You say the word, and we can forget this. Although I doubt I’ll ever forget what it felt like to kiss you, but I understand if this is⁠—”

“It’s not that. I just…” I glance around the room. “The last time I was in here, I think you had a Super Mario comforter.”

Joshua stares at me, not saying a word for several protracted seconds.

Then he grabs my hand and tugs me down the hall into the guest room.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I explain. “It just sort of…hit me, I guess. I⁠—”

He pulls me to a stop by the bed and faces me, lifting one hand to cup my cheek. “I told you. When we’re together, I don’t want you to think of the person I used to be.” His thumb sweeps across my cheekbone, the gentle touch sending sparks through me. “Because I certainly don’t think of the person you used to be whenever I look at you.”