I clench the steering wheel, my fingers wrapped so tight around the leather that my knuckles turn white. Before me the road winds between a copse of trees, curving into the distance. Night air rushes through my open windows, tousling my hair as I drive aimlessly. The sky stretches wild and purple overhead.

If I hadn’t come clean about how I’m kinda, sorta, actually not really going back to school, my dad might have backed me up. But I couldn’t lie to him anymore, and—surprise, surprise—he picked Team Gayle.

The truth lodges in my throat, bitter and hard. In four weeks or so I’ll be officially homeless. I guess four weeks is better than nothing, but it doesn’t feel that way. The countdown is on.

I hit the edge of town, slowing my car to crawl through the commercial district, all the tiny stores closing for the night. I don’t realize where I’m going until I’m already in front of Jackson’s apartment, and then ringing his doorbell seems like the natural thing to do.

Jackson opens the door, sweaty and shirtless.

Shit. I’m clearly interrupting something. “Sorry.” My face flushes. “I can go.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, a sharp sting anchoring me. It was stupid to show up uninvited. Just like everything in my life when it comes to Jackson, I haven’t thought this through.

“No,” he says. He opens his door wider and waves me inside. “Come in.”

His apartment looks like it did the other night, but with the lights on and music pumping, it seems brighter and filled with life. Closer to the Jackson I know.

Wait a second. “Is that Britney Spears?” I turn my face toward his. The music throbs behind us, the beat racing and the unmistakable lyrics of a certain pop princess commanding attention.

“You gotta work, bitch,” Jackson confirms with a good-natured smile. He’s so matter-of-fact about it that I can’t help but laugh. The knots in my shoulders loosen. This, this is why I’m here. This and those delicious, sweaty muscles that are distracting me, making me almost forget why I came. Almost.

Jackson shuts off the music and the room feels quiet and big. “It’s a good thing you caught me. I just got in from a run.”

“I still can’t believe that’s a thing you do.”

Jackson shrugs. “After my dad died and I knew I was going to be in Swan’s Hollow for a while, I picked it up. Made the town feel less small, somehow. Like if I was outside, running, I could be running anywhere.”

Why have I never considered that, in a way, Jackson’s stuck here, too? Out of all the places on the map, Swan’s Hollow might not have been his first choice.

Jackson ambles to the couch. “You didn’t come here to talk about my running.” He sits down and stretches an arm over the back of the couch. “Did you?”

I shake my head and all my anger comes rushing back to me. The story spills out as I pace the carpet of his living room. “I’m getting kicked out of my dad’s guesthouse.”

Jackson eyebrows pull together. “What? Why?”

“Gayle is morally opposed to me having lube in their house. Or guesthouse. Or whatever. Because obviously if I have lube in my house I’m a wanton slut, even if I’ve only ever slept with two people. God forbid I embrace my sexual agency and want to make things better for other people out there. God forbid I take charge of my own pleasure and want to run a fucking business.”

I’m so furious I don’t even see the satisfaction on Jackson’s face until he speaks. “You’ve only slept with two people?”

Oh shit. I really did just say that. My face burns so hot I’m sure it’s scarlet. It’s true that I’ve only ever slept with him and Matthew, and if I’m being honest, there’s no comparison there. But I don’t want Jackson to think it means more than it does. Which he will.

I shake away his question. “Let’s focus on the bigger problem.” When in doubt, redirect. “I’m not going to have a place to store the lube. Not that I’ve even ordered it yet. So I’m basically being forced to choose between having this business and having a place to stay.”

“Store the lube here,” Jackson says, like that’s a long-term solution.

I shake my head again. I don’t want to give up control of these products. It’s already too much to have Jackson pay for part of the order. But to have him hold the bottles, too? I know the products will be safe, and that it will only be a short-term thing until our bottles get shipped to stores and to Amazon, but it just feels like this business is becoming less and less my own.

“I don’t want to do that to you, Jackson.”

Jackson catches my hand, pulling me close to him, and I get real quiet, real fast. “We’re partners, right?”

I remember his skin coasting over mine, his fingers coaxing me in the dark. It’s not at all what he’s talking about, but it’s there anyway, hovering just beneath the surface of the conversation.

I bite my lip. “Yeah.”

“Then it’s a business decision.”

I want it to be that easy. I want to believe him. And at the very least, our contract will protect me.

I sigh. “Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

All of a sudden a wave of exhaustion crashes over me and a strangled sob escapes my throat. I’m going to be homeless. I mean, maybe I can move to Florida with my mom, but that’s so, so far from what I want. Is my business even worth it?

Jackson’s eyebrows knit together with worry. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes.

Another sob wracks my shoulders and I press my hands against my eyes to hold back tears. It doesn’t help. I need to stay angry. It’s easier than being sad, but I’m so damn tired of fighting this.

“Easy, Nat.” Jackson grabs my wrist and tugs me to him. I land on the couch next to him and he hauls me against his naked chest. I struggle to breathe. Please do not let me cry all over him.

Jackson rubs comforting circles on my back. He smells sweaty and good and like home. I want to kiss a trail down his body. I want to sink into him and forget everything. He believes in me. And while I believe in myself, I have to. Nothing’s obligating him to care, and he does anyway.

When I manage to get control of my body again, Jackson kisses my temple and smiles at me. He climbs to his feet. “I know something that will make you feel better.”

Sex. He means sex. And I’m a mess. “I don’t know, Jackson.”

He surprises me by holding out his hand. “Give me your car keys.”

“I—what?”

He gestures again. “You’re a flight risk, Natalie Bloom. It’ll be pretty hard to help you if you run away. And I need to shower.”

I start to protest but he’s right. I dig my keys from my pocket and hand them over.

“Good girl,” he says, and slides his sweatpants to his feet.

My eyes widen and a blush sweeps over my body. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen it before. Jackson Wirth in just his boxers is like sex on a stick.

Jackson winks and turns down the hall. He pauses in the doorway of the bathroom. “If I leave you alone, are you going to keep freaking out?”

I weigh the possibility. “Maybe,” I admit.

“Then come with me.” He catches my eye, and reluctantly shakes his head. “I’d invite you in here and make you really forget about things, but we have to go.”

I sink down onto the hallway floor to wait while he showers, and Jackson talks to me through the cracked bathroom door. “Teach me how to make a latte,” he says, and I walk him through the steps, only afterward realizing that he’s doing it to calm me down, make me forget my anger.

At last Jackson strolls out of the bathroom, clean and damp and wearing a crisp white button-down. He’s all the delicious things in the world combined. My mouth falls open. He may not have meant sex, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Jackson leads me to his car, the heat outdoors damp and oppressive, but I don’t complain. Right now I need this. Wherever he takes me, it will be better than going back to that guesthouse and facing the fact that my dad bailed on me. That I deserved it.

Jackson unlocks the passenger door to let me in, scooping a bouquet of tulips off the front seat. Their heady, sweet scent makes my stomach turn. Jackson wasn’t expecting to see me tonight. Those flowers are meant for someone else.

My whole body stiffens and my heart hammers in my chest. It was so stupid to think Jackson would only sleep with one person at a time. It was stupid to think that anything about this situation would work out for me.

“In or out?” Jackson asks. I cross my arms over my chest, like keeping him physically away will keep him out of my heart. “Don’t be mad, Natalie. Get in the car.”

I set my jaw. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Jackson.”

“I am full of good ideas.” I snort and Jackson tilts his head. “Is it the flowers?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Ahh,” he says with understanding. “Don’t worry about them.” He reaches for my hand. “Just trust me, okay?”

I’m trying, I’m trying, I need to try.

I sigh and fold myself into the seat. “Okay, Skippy. This better be good.”