We have our dessert on Blake's couch. Of course, he worked everything out so sticky rice and mango was waiting for us in his apartment. The man can pull strings I can't even fathom.

I flip around the channels. I settle on a Grey's Anatomy rerun, and he watches with a bemused fascination.

"What the hell is this?" he asks.

"It's an amazing soap opera where all the doctors and nurses are sleeping together. I used to watch it with Lizzy." Before I was too busy to commit to Netflix binge sessions.

"Why?"

"It's TV. It's fun. Don't you ever watch TV just to zone out?"

He stares at me like I'm crazy.

"No, of course you don't. You have three spare hours a week and you spend them all, what—playing chess?"

"No. I spend them fucking beautiful women."

"Really?"

He shrugs.

I laugh. Blake is making a joke. It's weird but perfect.

He scoops sticky rice with his spoon and slides it into my mouth. Sweet, creamy, hint of coconut. And, yes, damn sticky. Last time he was…

I dig my nails into my thighs so I won't react. I want to connect with him when we have our clothes on.

I lick the spoon clean. Blake raises an eyebrow as if to say hmm, you really like that sticky rice.

I flip him off.

He smiles. My heart thuds.

Fine. I get off on his smile. I can accept that. It doesn't mean we're serious.

Who wouldn't giggle over a perfect smile?

Especially when it's as rare as Blake's is.

"And you make time for this show?" he asks.

"Not this show in particular. But it's important to relax." I eat mango with my hands. The juice runs down my fingers.

Blake takes my hand and runs his tongue over it, lapping up every bit of juice. His eyes connect with mine. "You don't relax unless I force you to."

"I went to brunch with my sister." And spent the entire time stressed over that damn check. "It was very relaxing."

He stares at me like he doesn't believe me. "Take your own advice, Kat. What do you ever do that's just for you?"

"I don't know."

"You deserve to treat yourself." He runs his finger up my neck. "You deserve everything the world has to offer."

He looks at me like he's promising me everything, but I only want this. Him looking at me like I'm the fucking world, like I'm the thing he wants to explore.

Warmth rushes around inside me, collecting in my belly. It's not the racing heat of what happened in the bathroom. It's not about touching him. Not physically.

I clear my throat. "And what are you offering? Anything better than the world?"

His lips curl into a smile and then—thank God I'm sitting, because my knees go weak—he laughs.

It's a belly laugh. A perfect laugh. His eyes light up and that little dimple appears on his check.

He brushes a hair from my eyes.

His breath warms my ear as he leans closer. "Much better than the world."

"And what's that."

He nods to a box tucked away on the bookshelf. Chess. "The chance for victory."

"Yeah?"

"Unless you're afraid of a challenge."

You mean like surviving the next few months with Blake without falling to pieces? "Never."

He sets the game up on the coffee table. We play a dozen times. Same handicap for Blake—no queen. I manage to win a few times. But the truth is, my mind isn't on the strategy.

It's on him. His fingers gliding over the pieces, over his chin as he thinks. The cute look of frustration when he loses a piece. The way his eyes get big and bright. A new idea, something to excite him.

His smile.

That dimple on his cheek.

His laugh.

His perfect laugh.

My heart races. All this nervous energy over a board game. It's not like me. I hold my own with people yelling in my face, with six tables who all need me at once, with no way to pay next month's bills.

I hold my own.

"I should really get to bed." I yawn dramatically to sell my story.

Blake presses his lips into mine. "I'll go with you."

He's going to sleep with me? My nod is quick. Enthusiastic. My next step is closer to a skip.

I brush my teeth and change into a pair of pajamas from the dresser. My size, my style. I don't even care how he got them, who bought them.

Only that they're here.

That we're both here.

He pulls me onto his bed. His lips brush mine. It's softer and sweeter than any of our previous kisses.

He holds me until I fall asleep.

He holds me like he loves me.

* * *

I wake up cold. No arms around me. No one else in the bed. The apartment is quiet. Empty.

There's a note on the counter:

Went into work early. Will be home by 8 P.M. if you want to stick around. If not, take a cab and use my credit card. I insist.

Help yourself to anything.

- Blake

Home by eight. Nice and early. A solid twelve hours away.

I dig around the kitchen. There's coffee, tea, cereal, milk. That's about it. There's plenty to do in this area of town. Hell, I could spend the whole day in the park. I could spend half of it at the Met.

But I'm not rearranging my day around Blake. As nice as his place is, as much as I want to wander around Central Park, I'm not staying here.

I fix myself cereal and coffee and sit on the balcony. It's warmer today, but there's still a chill. I wrap myself in a blanket and doodle the view in every direction.

I'll miss this apartment.

I'll miss Blake more.

I try to shut out the thought, but it sticks in my mind.

The only thing worse than staying with him is leaving.