Catching Carter’s hand, I move toward the main exit, pulling her along with me. I don’t give her a chance to change her mind, quickly passing through the automatic doors with her in tow. Once we’re on the sidewalk I slow my pace, still holding her hand. To my surprise she doesn’t try to tug away from my grasp and I enjoy the way her small fingers feel slotted between mine. Her palm is soft, and feels natural, as if we’ve done this hundreds of times before.

Our stride is leisurely, as if we have all the time in the world. We maneuver in and out of the other pedestrians as one. We’re already in sync and we haven’t even begun to explore this powerful connection between us.

We both come to a halt at the same time, staring at the front of Madison Square Garden. There’s an image of Noah and his opponent Mark Sanchez on the rectangular sign on the exterior of the building. It’s enormous, almost the same height as the building itself.

“Woah,” Carter sighs, her eyes trekking the length all the way to the top. She releases my hand and pulls her phone out, taking pictures of the sign. Next, she takes a selfie with Noah in the background. “I wonder if Reagan has seen this yet? She must have, right?” she mutters to herself as she texts the pic to her sister.

“Unfucking real,” I chuckle. “My boy is famous.”

“My sister is engaged to someone who’s pic is on the outside of Madison Square Garden. I can’t believe I’ve known him since he barely had facial hair.”

“That’s right. You’ve known Noah for a long time. I forgot about that,” I say, reaching into my front pocket, for my phone as I listen to her.

“Yeah, but I didn’t live in Boston for most of those years since I was away at college. I didn’t really get the opportunity to know him very well. It’s only in the past couple of months since I’ve moved back that I have. But he makes my little sister happier than I’ve ever seen her so that’s all that matters to me.”

I take a pic of the building size image of my friend, before replying. “She makes him just as happy.” Her head swivels until our eyes meet. Hers appear an icy blue against the city backdrop. “Come here,” I urge. She slides over next to me as we face away from the building. Slinging my arm around her shoulders, I pull her close and take a selfie of the two of us. “One more. This time, smile.” Pressing my cheek to hers, an obnoxiously large smile spreads across my mouth as I take the picture. Glancing down at the image, I grin. We look great together if I do say so myself. “Here, text the pic to yourself,” I order, handing her my phone. She types quickly and returns it to me. Nice work. I congratulate myself. I have her phone number now.

“How do you feel about grabbing a drink?” I question, slipping my phone away once again.

“I’m up for a beverage or two; it’s not even dark yet. I’m not ready to head back to the hotel yet,” she says, with a frown.

“What’s the matter? Why don’t you want to be back there? You know I’d never try to do something inappropriate, right?” Staring down at her, my expression is serious. I’m all for having a good time and joking around, but I hope she knows, without a doubt, that I’m not going to jump her once we’re inside the room.

“I don’t know why, but hotel rooms always make me feel claustrophobic. You’re stuck in one room with nowhere to go.” She rubs the back of one hand over her forehead, while I give the one I’m still holding a gentle squeeze.

“How about we stay busy until you’re ready to return? I’m not in a rush to get back and we are in one of the greatest cities in the world, second to Boston of course.” I flash her a quick grin.

She nods her head and smiles. “Okay, I like that idea.”

Glancing around, I search the immediate area for a bar that looks appealing. “Come on. Let’s walk this way a little more and see what we can find.” We stroll along for another block before we come to a pub that looks like my kind of place. Dimly lit and tucked between two buildings, it has a certain charm. And by charm, I mean it looks like the glasses will have lipstick and fingerprints on them even after they’ve been washed.

“This looks like as good a place as any,” I say directing her to the entrance. Tugging the silver handle, I open the door and gesture for her to go first. “After you, Candy.”

She rolls her eyes at my nickname as she steps inside. “Are you sure about this place?” she questions.

My eyes scan the small, dark bar. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Perfect? Perfect for what? A bar fight? Someone to get knifed without anyone noticing?”

“Nothing wrong with a good bar brawl. But I wouldn’t know anything about those,” I say, with a smirk.

“You do realize I’ve seen the footage of the fight you and Noah were in, right?” she questions.

Oh shit. I never imagined that Carter would be the type to watch videos on YouTube. But, I guess since the video involved her famous future brother in law getting into a fight in a Boston bar, then she would be inclined to watch. I just happened to be out with Noah at the time and of course I had my boy’s back. I couldn’t sit there and let him handle three guys all by himself, even though I know he could. But that fight happened over a year ago, so when did she watch it?

“When did you see the video?” My eyes narrow as I study her expression.

She chews on her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact.

Our hands still connected, I nudge her arm with my elbow. “Hey, I’m just curious.” I don’t want her to think it’s a big deal that she saw it. I’m only curious because if she watched it before we met at the engagement party then she might have known who I was when she kissed me.

Her eyes meet mine. “I watched it last week. Reagan was talking about the fight and I didn’t know what she was referring to. She couldn’t believe I’d never seen it.” She shrugs. “I don’t really follow social media. Even when someone in my family is famous.”

I don’t know why, but I’m relieved that she didn’t know who I was when she kissed me.

Maybe it’s because it’s a stroke to my ego; she wanted me so bad she couldn’t control herself.

I like that she’s not manipulating and controlling. The situations we’ve found ourselves in have been spontaneous and not orchestrated. I can’t imagine Carter plotting out ways to get a guy to talk to her. First of all, she’s fucking hot. Any guy would want to talk to her. But, she’s not the type to put herself out there. When you combine her naturally shy nature with her past relationship baggage it makes her even more hesitant. She’s got walls that are so fucking high, I’ll be lucky if I can find a way around them.

“Who are you?” I joke.

“What do you mean?”

“You might be the only girl I know who doesn’t like social media.” Her cheeks flush enough that I notice in the dim bar lighting. “Hey, that’s not something to be embarrassed about. It’s a good thing. I like that you don’t place too much importance on that stuff.”

“I’ve got bigger things on my mind.”

“Let’s grab some seats and you can tell me all about what occupies your head space.” Leading her to two vacant stools on the farthest end of the bar, we both sink down on the wooden seats. “What would you like to drink?” I ask, watching as her eyes dart along the bottles lined up on the mirrored wall.

“I’d love a shot.”

“What kind?” I lean toward her.

She purses her lips together while she mulls over her choices. “I want an Irish Car Bomb.”

What the fuck?

I wasn’t expecting that. I figured she’d order something fruity and weak, not a drink made with Guinness, Bailey’s and Irish whiskey.

“Four Irish Car Bombs, please,” I tell the bartender, before smiling at Carter. “Candy, you never fail to surprise me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Well, it’s definitely not bad. You keep me on my toes and I don’t know many people who do. I like it.”

The bartender places the four shots down in front of us. Pushing two toward Carter, I pick up both of mine. “Here’s to being single, drinking double and seeing triple.”

Carter giggles at my toast. Touching the edge of one of my glasses to hers I nod and we both knock back the first shot. Immediately, we both drink down the second ones and slam our glasses on the bar simultaneously. “More?” I question, my eyebrow raised.

“Yes, please.”

Gesturing to the bartender, I hold up four fingers and return my attention to Carter. “So, you mentioned having bigger things on your mind. Were you referring to me?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her until it incites a laugh. God, I love to make her happy. “Or were you referring to actual adult problems?”

“I’m sorry to damage your enormous ego, but I meant the latter.”

“What’s worrying you, Candy? Tell Daddy Nick.”

She snorts and covers her mouth. “You did not just say that.”

“Oh, I did. Want me to say it again? Slower maybe?”

“Noooo. Don’t ever use the word daddy in a sexual way again. That’s just...yuck.” She shivers in disgust.

“Okay. Daddy is a hard limit for you. What else is?”

“Wait. What? How did we go from you asking what’s worrying me to inquiring about my sexual limits?”

“What can I say? I’m an expert at navigating the rough seas of getting to know someone. Watch out. You never know what I might get you to reveal.”

The bartender places our shots down. Nudging my arm into hers, I say, “come on. What do you want to drink to?”

She smirks mischievously. “Here’s to being single, drinking double, sleeping triple and having multiples.”

I’m still staring at her in surprise when she knocks back the first shot. She smiles just before the second glass slots between her shiny, pink lips.

Raising my own glass to my mouth, I drink them down in quick succession. Sliding the empty glasses toward the inner edge of the bar, I lean my arms on the wooden surface. “I like your version of that toast better.”

She flushes sweetly and drums her fingernails on the bar.

“Let’s get back to our discussion on your hard limits.”

Her head snaps around and our gazes lock.

“You didn’t think I was going to let that drop, did you?” My tone’s laced with amusement.

“I was hoping you would.” I like her candidness.

“This conversation could be a great way to get to know each other better.”

“I don’t really see a reason that you’d need to know what my limits are.”

“Oh, I disagree.” Sliding my hand over, I trail a fingertip down the warm skin of her forearm and over the back of her hand. “It’s only a matter of time before you and I will be naked and horizontal...vertical works too. I’m open to either. Naked is the important part.”

“Are you delusional?” she questions with wide eyes.

“No, I’m Nick.” I hold my hand out for her to shake. “Are you already drunk?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.” She slaps my hand away.

“No, I don’t. I think you’re the delusional one. You think that all this sexual tension between us is just going to go away.” Leaning over, I run my nose along the curve of her ear. “It’s not,” I tell her, my lips below her ear.

She shivers, and I smile triumphantly.

“We’ll see,” she says, playing it cool. She can pretend all she wants that we’re not destined to end up naked between the sheets. It’s happening whether she tries to deny it or not.

“How do you feel about kissing?” I ask, starting with an easy question. I need to ease her into this conversation.

“I love kissing.”

“What about cuddling?”

“I love to cuddle. Do you?”

“Do I cuddle?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d be the king of cuddling if I had someone to cuddle with.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t cuddle?”

“No, I’m saying I never have. I’ve never had anyone I wanted to cuddle with before. Are you volunteering to pop my cuddling cherry?”