Yes, they do. “I made a mistake,” I try to explain. But it’s difficult to speak about why I did something stupid trying to protect one of my brothers. I can’t even begin to explain it.

“You didn’t hurt anybody, did you?” she asks. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

“No,” I admit. “Just me. And my brothers when they put me in jail.” I heave a sigh. “I disappointed everyone, including myself.”

She smiles and says, “So what did we learn from today?” She looks all bright and sunny and reminds me of my eighth-grade science teacher, who I had a massive crush on.

“I learned never to grab you when you’re trying to walk away from me.”

She nods. She says very quietly, “I learned that I really like sharing my chocolate milk with you.”

My gut twists. “I like talking to you,” I admit.

“Me, too,” she whispers.

I touch my eye again. “You pack a mean punch. Remind me never to walk up on you in a dark alley.” I think about it a minute. “Or a dark barn.”

“Or a sunny picnic area,” she grumbles playfully.

I laugh. “Wait till my brothers hear that you punched me.”

“Will they think it’s funny?”

“When my brother Logan met his fiancée, Emily, she punched him in the face.”

She covers her mouth with her fingertips. “Oh,” she breathes.

“He says if you ever meet a girl who punches you in the face when you deserve it, you should marry her.” I laugh. I still love that story. “Logan put the moves on Emily within seconds of meeting her, and she broke his nose.” I lift up my injured arm. “You just broke my arm. Not quite the same effect.”

“Well, you weren’t putting the moves on me,” she says with a laugh.

“Oh, I was,” I admit. “I’m just not as smooth as Logan.”

“Thank God,” she breathes. I scrunch my eyebrows together, which makes her rush on to say, “If you were any less subtle, you would probably scare me to death.” She grins. “I like it.”

“You want me to stop trying to put the moves on you?” I ask. I wait anxiously.

She heaves a sigh. “No.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” I grouse.

“I don’t know what to do with all these feelings,” she admits.

My gut twists. “Me, neither.”

“So, what do we do now?” she asks.

I hold up my injured arm by the wrist. “I think I need a doctor.”

She rushes to turn the truck back on. “I almost forgot you’re injured!”

I didn’t forget. And I won’t forget to be careful with her from now on. But she likes the way I make her feel. That’s a good start.

Reagan

The doctor says his wrist isn’t broken, thank goodness. It’s just strained. It’s not even sprained. He recommends that Pete take an anti-inflammatory and rest it. Pete seems satisfied with that.

The questions about Pete’s quickly blackening eye were a little unsettling.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to call the police so they can arrest the person who assaulted you?” the nurse asks. She’s been flirting with him ever since we walked in the door.

“I’m sure. It wasn’t intentional.” His eyes meet mine over her head as she wraps his wrist. Her hands linger a little too long on his, and I see his eyes lower to look down her top. She makes a twittering noise when she catches him.

“You’re new in town?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” She looks him in the eye and smiles. “I’m certain I would remember you if I had.”

Pete smiles at me and rolls his eyes. “I’m from the city,” he says. He plays with his piercing, and I can’t draw my eyes from his lips, watching him as he toys with the hoop with the tip of his tongue.

“Well, if you ever want a tour of our little town, you just let me know.”

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” I blurt out.

Pete raises his brow at me, but his eyes are twinkling so brightly that I can tell he’s amused.

I rush to continue. I drop my voice down to what I hope is a sultry purr. “I really don’t plan to let him out of bed long enough to see the sights.” I laugh. It was close to a twitter.

She freezes. “Oh, I didn’t realize…” she says.

“I can tell,” I toss back. I glare at her, and she has the decency to flush.

“I’ll be right back,” she mutters as she runs from the room.

A noise bubbles up from within Pete. It might be laughter. But if it is, I think he’s going to die from it. He laughs, his shoulders shaking until he falls back to lie on the exam table, his belly rocking as he guffaws out loud. I stand up, walk to his side, and look down at him. “And just what do you find so amusing?” I ask.

He wipes the tears from beneath his eyes with his knuckles. “You had to save me from the nurse,” he cackles. “That’s some funny shit right there,” he says. He’s still wiping his eyes, the laughter starting to die back. “Why did you do that?” he asks. “She was harmless.”

I look toward the door, remembering her beautiful smile; long, dark hair; and please-touch-me personality. I could never compete, at least not with the last part of it. “She was about as harmless as a piranha in a tank full of goldfish.”

He laughs again, big achingly beautiful belly laughs. When it dies down, I realize how close I’m standing to him. He lifts his hand and reaches to place it on my hip. But an inch before it settles there, he says, “I’m going to touch you,” very softly. My heart leaps. “I’m warning you so you won’t hit me.”

“Where?” I whisper. His hand is really close to my hip, but I want to be sure. My pulse thrums.

“Don’t hit me anywhere,” he whispers back playfully.

I roll my eyes at him, but my insides are flipping over themselves.

His hand lands on my hip, warm and strong. It’s not intrusive at all. But I close my eyes because the sensuality of his touch combined with the heat in his eyes makes me want to run far, far away. I don’t, though. I let him touch my hip.

“That’s not so bad, is it?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “It’s all right, I suppose,” I say softly. I can barely take a breath, much less talk. He sits up and very gently leads me to stand between his legs with gentle pressure at my waist.

“Do you want to hit me?” he asks.

I shake my head and finally let my gaze meet his. “No,” I say quietly.

“If you did, it would be worth it,” he says softly. His nose touches mine, his lips a mere breath away. I lay my hand on his stomach, and I feel the muscles contract. I jerk my hand back, but he puts his over mine and presses it gently against him. “I like it when you touch me,” he says. “You can do it any time you want.”

He brushes his nose gently against mine in little eskimo kisses. His lips hover over mine, but they never meet, and I feel like I might pass out from the fear that comes with wanting him to kiss me so badly. “Kiss me,” I say.

He freezes, and his hand tightens on my hip. “Nope.” He shakes his head.

I pull my head back and look into his eyes. “It’s all right,” I say. “I want to try it.”

He sets me back from him. “Nope,” he says again. He shakes his head even more vehemently.

“Why not?” I can’t believe I’m begging this man to kiss me. Is this what I’ve been reduced to?

He heaves a sigh. “I’m not going to kiss you because I can’t tell if you want to kiss me or if you want to kiss someone you don’t think is a threat for practice.”

“What if it’s a little bit of both?” I ask.

He shakes his head, and I think he might be a little bit pissed. “When you feel an overwhelming desire to kiss me—” He stops and pats his chest. “—When you want to kiss Pete,” he says. “I’ll kiss you. If you want to practice, you can find someone else to help you out.”

I don’t understand. “It’s just a kiss.”

He takes my chin in a gentle grip and forces me to look into his eyes. “When I finally kiss you, it’s going to be because you want to kiss me, Pete, the man, the one who looks at you with wonder in his eyes, the one who is so f**king scared of these brand-new feelings for you that he sometimes can’t breathe, the one who is dying to taste you. I have thought about you almost every day since I met you, princess, and I don’t want to get you off my mind.” He kisses the tip of my nose quickly and pulls back. “But when I kiss you, it’s going to be because you have a thing for me that’s as big as the thing I have for you.”

I can’t help it. I look toward his lap. He chuckles.

“Yeah, that too,” he says with a laugh.

“So what do we do now?” I ask. I can’t believe it. The first time I have wanted to kiss someone since the assault and he’s too much of a gentleman to take me up on it.

“Let’s go shopping,” he says. He nods, as though he’s thinking it over. “Do we have to be in a hurry to get back to camp?”

I shrug. We probably should. “Dad will light up my phone if I’m not back in an hour or two.”

He nods and looks down at his watch. “It’s almost lunchtime.” He grins. “I think it’s time for our third date.”

I roll my eyes and follow him out of the exam room. My knees are still wobbly from our near kiss. If he ever really kisses me, I’ll probably turn into a puddle on the floor.

Pete

I want to kiss her. I really, really want to kiss her. But I’m not even going to go there. Not until she’s ready. And it’s not because I’m afraid she’ll Cujo my ass. It’s because I really care about her. I have for a long time, and these past two days with her have only made me want to get to know her even more.

I remember when Logan brought Emily home for the first time. We laughed at him because she spent the night, and he’d had plenty of women in his bed, but he’d never, ever had one sleep over. He didn’t even have sex with her, not until weeks later, and she slept in his bed every single night. He fell head over heels in love with her. Immediately. Looking back on it, I remember trying to figure out what the f**k he was thinking. Now I get it. There are some girls you sleep with. And then there are other girls you want to sleep with so badly that you hurt, but you don’t because they’re special.

We get out of the truck at the drugstore, and I walk around and take her hand in mine as we walk toward the sliding door at the entrance. She jerks her hand back, but I don’t let it go. I hold on tightly but gently. She startles, and I’m afraid for a second that she’s going to punch me again. But she takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and her grip relaxes in mine.

“What are we shopping for?” she asks. She looks up, her green eyes meeting mine. They’re wary, though.

“Condoms,” I say, deadpan. Her mouth falls open. I lean close to her face and whisper loudly, “I’m kidding.” I hold up my wrist, the hand that’s not holding hers, and say, “I need some kind of anti-inflammatory.”

“Oh,” she says as she begins to deflate. But then she grins and shakes her head.

“Something wrong?” I ask. I already know that she’s unsure how to respond to me. But I’m hoping I can shock her into just being herself. I want her to be just her. Not the her that was created by the trauma of her assault. I just want to see her.

She shakes her head and draws her lower lip between her teeth.

“You got to stop doing that, princess,” I say. “You’re killing me here.”

She tenses up. “Doing what?”

I reach out and touch her lower lip with the pad of my thumb. I halfway expect her to jerk back. Or clock me. But she does neither. She smiles and ducks her head, her hair falling in her face. I very slowly brush it back and tuck it behind her ear. She smiles shyly and looks everywhere but at me. “What kind of pain reliever do you want?” she asks. She starts to walk toward the aisle, but I don’t let her hand go. I would follow her just about anywhere right now, so I let her lead me in the right direction.

I flex my hand. “I doubt anything is going to make a difference.” It’ll be all better by tomorrow, but she’s already perusing the shelf, looking for the right one. I step up close to her and put an arm around her waist. She looks up at me, her cheeks growing rosy. “I love that I can do that to you,” I say quietly.

She nods and bites her lower lip again. “Me, too,” she says.

I let her go for a minute and walk over to the other aisle to catch my breath. Tic Tac seriously needs some breath mints. I have to figure out that boy’s name, too, because I can’t keep calling him Tic Tac in my head. I pick up some breath mints for the kid and walk back toward where I left Reagan. Only she’s not alone when I return.

Reagan

I want to go back to the quiet, quaking silence I had with Pete, but he’s one aisle over when Chase spots me poring over the pain relievers from the end of the aisle. He calls my name and starts in my direction.

“Reagan,” Chase says, like he didn’t just see me yesterday. “I was just thinking about you.”

He’s always full of platitudes. I can’t tell if he’s sincere or not, which is one of the things I don’t like about him. “Hi, Chase,” I croak out. I look left and right and don’t see Pete. “What’s up?”