The boys were both gone—Remington was doing a tattoo, and Rome was off taking a food service management course, and my cousins were running the saloon. This left me to putz around the apartment by myself. I cleaned and put away my gear, contemplated taking a shower but didn’t have the energy for it, contemplated making food but didn’t feel like expending the effort…

I found myself at the refurbished iMac my brothers and I shared, updating my resumé and emailing it to the HR department of the National Park Service, attaching the letter of recommendation my brothers and I had all received from our superiors in both the hotshot and smokejumper crews. And then, with nothing better to do, I changed into workout clothes and jogged over to Baxter’s gym.

His gym was huge, clean, well-lit—and the center of the warehouse space was dominated by a boxing ring. There were massive power racks along three of the outside walls, and racks of high-end bumper plates at regular intervals; the fourth side was reserved for a trio of hanging heavy bags and a pair of speed bags, and the doorway to Baxter’s little office. I walked in and was assaulted by a palpable wall of sound—grinding, chugging, shrieking heavy metal pounding from expensive speakers suspended from the ceiling at all four corners of the warehouse. Bax himself was in the ring, barefoot, shirtless, a mouthguard protecting his teeth and professional gloves on his hands—he was sparring with a lean, hard, quick-fisted young Hispanic guy. Bax was obviously going slow and letting the younger boxer take his shots, only occasionally taking a jab here and there. I watched them spar for a few minutes, and noted the way Baxter danced and ducked and weaved, getting his trainee to reveal his strengths and weaknesses. Finally, when the younger guy started to visibly flag, Bax held up a glove to stop the fight. He used his teeth to untie his right glove, wedged it under his left arm and tugged his hand free so he could remove his mouthguard. The other fighter did the same, sweating profusely and out of breath, whereas Bax was barely winded and only had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Okay, Luis, I’ve got some homework for you, buddy,” Bax said. “Number one, conditioning, man. You’re smoked and we only went fifteen minutes, and I was going easy on you. You’ve got the footwork down pat, no question, and your hands are quicker’n greased lightning, but you gotta be able to last longer. Number two, strength—you need to build up a bit more power behind your punches. I ain’t gonna even put you in the ring yet. You could win fights, probably, but I think if you spent a few more months training, you’d go into the circuit and you’d seriously wreck some motherfuckers. So I want you to focus on those two things—endurance, and power. You’re plenty strong, but you need more power, and you gotta be able to sustain that power for several rounds.”

Luis was nodding. “I gotchu, Bax, I gotchu. Power and endurance. Got it.”

Bax clapped Luis on the shoulder with his still-gloved left hand. “Hit the road, kid. You’re good for today.”

Luis swung out of the ring between two of the ropes, hopped down, and headed for the showers, which were next to the office. Bax hopped down too, unlacing his other glove and heading over to me.

“What up, cuz?” he said, holding out a fist.

I shrugged, tapping knuckles with him. “I need to blow off some steam.”

Bax jerked his chin at the ring. “That kinda steam?” He jerked a thumb at the closest power rack, next. “Or that kind?”

I indicated the power rack. “That kind.”

Bax nodded, but I could tell he was scrutinizing me. “Tell me one thing, first.”

“Okay?”

“Are we trying to shred you out of thinking about a certain someone?”

I sighed in frustration. “Honestly, yes.”

Bax nodded again. “A’ight. I’ll work you out till you’re half dead, but I’m gonna warn you right now, it won’t work for long.”

He was as good as his word—for the next eighty minutes Baxter put me through the most brutally punishing workout of my life. For those eighty minutes, I benched, squatted, deadlifted, pushed and pulled a loaded sled, did dozens of burpees and hundreds of pushups and pull-ups. By the time Bax called it quits, I was barely able to stay on my feet, and couldn’t lift my arms more than waist high.

He was as good as his word in another respect as well—the minute I stopped exerting myself, I started thinking about Izzy again.

Bax saw it, too. “Told you.”

I groaned, leaning against the boxing ring. “It sucks, dude. I don’t know what to do.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I shrugged. “Not much to say. We went hiking together, camped out together…finally slept with her, and it was…well, better than I’d even imagined it could be. But after that, after we slept together, she just…withdrew.”

“Sex or love?” Bax asked.

“Huh?”

“Was it sex…or was it love?”

I growled. “Fuck if I know.”

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me the fuckin’ truth, cuz.”

“Neither, and both.”

Bax chuckled. “That means it was love. Or the beginnings of it. If you have sex with a chick and it’s just fucking, and you both know it, that’s easy-peasy. But if you have sex with a girl and you both know it’s something else, too? That’s when shit gets complicated, and complicated means at least one of you, and probably both of you, have feelings you’re not willing to deal with. Which means it’s most likely the beginnings of love—at least the beginnings, if not flat out the real deal.”

I laughed. “Okay, Dr. Phil.”

Bax eyed me weirdly. “You know, last time I talked to Izzy, she said basically the same thing--she called me Dr. Phil. What the fuck is with that?”

“You’re like some love expert or something.”

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “I am an expert on bullshitting myself into thinking I’m not in love when I am, though. Eve had to bludgeon me upside the head with the fact that we were perfect for each other before I could accept it, and now I guess I’m just more easily able to see that in others, and articulate it.”

“But if she won’t see it, if she won’t even give us the chance to talk about that possibility, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He shrugged. “Jack off a lot and hope she comes around eventually.”

I cackled. “Wow. I don’t think Dr. Phil would say that.”

He slapped my shoulder. “Dude, I wish there was something else I could tell you, but if she’s still in denial about her feelings or whatever, there’s just not much you can do. Neither you nor anyone else can force her to accept the reality of being in love with you. If she doesn’t want it, can’t handle it, won’t consider it, you’re just…fucked. You can keep trying, but eventually you’re going to either get through to her, or…not.” He eyed me. “You in love with her?”

I stared at the floor and lifted one shoulder about half an inch. “I could be.”

Bax was silent for a moment. “That’s a pussy answer.”

I stared hard at him. “Fuck you.”

He just laughed. “You know I’m right. You wanna lace up and step into my office”—here, he gestured at the ring—“be my guest.”

I growled again. “Fuck, man. How can I say I’m in love with her if I’ve only spent the one weekend with her? We fooled around a bit and slept together one time, and then she barely spoke to me the rest of the trip. Said she needed time to ‘process’ things.”

Bax shoved me toward the door. “Go home, bro. My advice? Give her time. If there was a connection and she’s got the balls to own it, she’ll come around.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“You wanna talk, spar, or work out, I’m here more often than not. The door’s always open for you, Ram.”

“Thanks, Bax.”

He grinned, clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s what family’s for, dude. Now go shower. You stink.”

I gave him the finger over my shoulder as I headed for home. Lost in thought, I trudged home, sore everywhere, my legs jelly, my arms and chest and shoulders burning, my abs shredded. I barely saw the sidewalk at my feet as I walked, so lost in thought was I.

If she never came around, what would I do? Get over her, eventually. But I knew for a fact that even if I managed to get hard for another woman, she wouldn’t make me feel the way Izzy had. And I didn’t want another woman— I wanted her.

God, this sucked.

Would she come around? She didn’t seem willing to even talk about what had happened between us, so what did that say about my chances? Not much of anything good, I decided.

I reached the apartment, trudging absently through the kitchen to the hallway, stripping on the way to the shower. I smelled something odd—a note of…perfume? Something like that. I chalked it up to Kitty or Juneau having been here recently, and shrugged it off, twisting on the shower. While I waited for the water to heat up, I brushed my teeth.

I got into the shower, hissing at the scalding hot water. I washed my hair and beard, and was rinsing, my eyes squeezed shut, when I thought I heard something. A door opening somewhere? I waited, listening, but I had shampoo in my eyes so I didn’t open them to look.

Another rinse, and then wiping my face I opened my eyes.

Izzy was in the shower with me, naked, her hair loose around her shoulders, damp and sticking to her pale skin.

I blinked. “Ummm. Hi. You’re—here.”

She didn’t smile. “Yeah. I’m here.”

I still had suds in my beard, and had a palmful of conditioner. “I…um. I wasn’t expecting you.”

She laughed, a quiet huff. “I know.”

A long, tense silence blossomed between us. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and didn’t bother trying. She was so beautiful, so perfect.

My heart ached, just looking at her.

“Izzy, I…” I had no idea where to start, and trailed off.

She stepped forward, took my wrist in her hand and twisted my palm face down over hers, smearing the conditioner off of my hand onto hers. She rubbed it between both hands, and then reached up and began massaging it into my hair, working it from scalp to ends with her fingertips. I groaned at the feeling of her strong, nimble fingers massaging my scalp, and let my eyes close.

I felt her splash water onto my beard, rinsing out the last of the suds, and then felt her fingers comb through my beard, smoothing it, playing with it.

I opened my eyes and looked down at her, wanting to say something—to ask what this was, if it was more of what we’d had in the tent: sex that meant something.

Her eyes were wide and full of expressive emotion, a myriad of meaning, a hazel-green tumult of intensity.

“Izz—” I started.

Two of her fingers touched my lips. “Shush, Ramsey,” she muttered. “Close your eyes again.”

“But I want to talk about—”

“I know,” she cut in. “I know. We will.”

“We will?”

She touched my lips again. “Yes. Later. Promise.” She brought her fingers up to my eyelids, and ever so gently touched them. “Close your eyes, Ram. Trust me.”

She twisted me so my back was to the far wall of the shower, opposite the showerhead, the water beating down on her back. Reaching up, she tilted the head so the water sprayed more directly downward, and then stared up at me, waiting.

“Come on, Ram,” she said. “I’m here. Just…trust me, okay?”

I heaved a deep breath, and then nodded. “Okay.”

I closed my eyes.

Leaned against the wall, and let my hands hang loose at my sides.

I felt her hands roaming my body, skating over my shoulders, tracing my chest, my abs. I groaned as her hands wrapped around my cock, and then I gasped aloud when I felt her slide me into her mouth. I had to look—had to open my eyes. She met my gaze, her eyes full of lust and heat and…more. Something else.

I didn’t dare speculate what, though.

For another minute, almost two, Izzy caressed my balls with one hand, stroked my cock just below where her mouth slid in and out in a slow, sucking rhythm. And then faster, and faster, and the faster she went, the harder her tits bounced against my thighs, and the harder my balls ached, the harder my cock throbbed inside her warm wet mouth.

“Izzy—” I groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…that feels so fucking amazing.”

“Don’t stop me, this time,” she said, her lips whispering against the tip of my cock.

“Izz…”

“Please. Promise me you won’t.”

I shook my head. “I can’t promise you that.”

She huffed in annoyance, and then her expression shifted, to one of defiance, or determination. Massaging my balls with both hands, then, she buried me deep in her mouth, in her throat, swallowing around me, and started bobbing, cradling my sac in her hands, caressing them ever more tightly, until she finally placed her middle and ring fingers along the underside of my sac and pressed hard, taking my cock deeper and deeper, bobbing hard and fast—faster than I’d have thought was possible.

God, oh god, oh god—it was too much, too much to hold out against. I knew what she was doing—she was saying goodbye. One last hurrah before she vanished from my life for good.

“Izzy, fuck…” I growled, snarling my fingers into the thick wet mass of her golden-copper hair. “I don’t want to say goodbye like this, goddammit.”

She paused, then, and pulled away so my aching cock plopped free of her mouth, swaying in front of her lips as she glanced in shock up at me. “Say goodbye? What are you talking about, Ram?”

I kept my expression carefully neutral. “That’s what this is, I assume. You, saying goodbye. Trying to be nice or something, get one last bit of fun out of me, the safe way, before you leave for good.”

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at me. “That’s what you think this is?”

I nodded. “Well…yeah.”

“Why?”

“I mean…it just seems like that, I guess. Why else would you show up in my shower and want to suck me off instead of just having sex with me?”

She stood up slowly, her expression shifting from puzzlement to…I honestly wasn’t sure what. All I knew was she was caught in the grip of some strange, strong emotion I didn’t understand, couldn’t read—she was acting weird, and that worried me.

She turned off the water, shoved aside the curtain and snagged the clean towel I’d hung there. With soft, slow, gentle movement, Izzy toweled me off and then herself. Tossing the towel to the floor, she stepped out of the shower and led me by the hand out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.

She closed my door, and locked it.

“I guess I went about this all wrong, didn’t I?” she said. “I thought you’d want that instead.”

“Want what?”

“My mouth.”

“Instead of what?”

“Instead of…me,” she said, gesturing at her body with a sweep of her hand.

“Honestly, Izzy, I have zero fucking clue what’s going on with you right now, or what you want, or what you’re doing. I just know I’m freaked out.”

She stared at me in silence for a moment, blinking slowly, owlishly, thinking hard. Choosing her words, her next action.

“This is hard for me, Ram. What I’m doing—what I want. I don’t know how to do it, how to say it. I was trying to show you instead of having to say it, but I guess that didn’t work.”

“Izzy, let me make one thing clear to you. There is a huge difference to me between you blowing me, us fucking, and whatever the hell that was we did in the tent yesterday morning, which, by the way, was a helluva lot more than just fucking. To me, you blowing me is…extra. It’s fun. I enjoy it. Obviously I do—it feels amazing, and if I could have you do that forever without having to come, without having it end, that would be heaven.” I brushed my palm against her cheek. “But having sex with you? We only did it once, and it was…better than heaven. It was more than just fucking, Izzy, and we both know it. If you’re saying goodbye, if this thing between us, whatever it is, is over—if you’re leaving for med school, or just aren’t interested or willing to explore what’s going on with us, then by all means, finish what you started in the shower. If this is goodbye, Izzy, then get on your knees and put those lips around my cock, and take my cum down your throat. That’ll be goodbye enough for me.”

She stared up at me. “Ramsey…”

I waited. “Isadora?”

She sucked in a deep breath, reaching up with visibly shaking hands to rake them through her damp hair. “Lay down on the bed.” She put her warm hands on my chest and pushed me backward toward the bed. “Please?”

I did as she asked, scooting onto the bed and lying in the center, my head on the pile of pillows, watching her. I expected her, truthfully, to kneel over my hips and do as I’d said—to say goodbye.

Instead, she crawled onto the bed from the foot end, prowling on all fours over my body, her breasts draping against me. She paused with her breasts over my cock, using the tips of them to caress me—and holy fuck were they soft, and warm, making me throb painfully. Instead of staying there, she kept going. Continued prowling up my torso like a hungry lioness stalking her prey. Her eyes were bright, fiery, fierce, determined. That nameless emotion I kept seeing flashing through in brief but powerful glimpses was fully evident now, and I saw the shape of what it was, but didn’t dare think it.

I wanted to hope, wanted to believe, but didn’t dare.

So, I let it play out.

I kept my hands tucked under my head, my expression neutral.

She crawled up until her knees were on either side of my hips, her hands beside my face. Her soft, heavy, warm breasts slid to drape hot against my chest. “This isn’t goodbye, Ramsey.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “No.” She lifted one hand, showing me how it was trembling. “I’m fucking terrified right now, Ram.”

“Just tell me what’s going on, then, if it’s not goodbye.”

She huffed a frightened laugh. “Can’t you guess by now?”

“I don’t want to guess, Izzy.” I needed to touch her—had to. While she was still here. I didn’t quite believe her, and wouldn’t until it was crystal clear, spoken out loud between us. “I want to know.”

I caressed her, then—ran my hands over the hot silk of her skin from shoulders to waist, over her arms, reaching down to clutch her ass before sliding my palms up her back, burying them in her hair. Back down to grip her hips, and then gave in to the need that ruled beneath all—

I palmed her face in both hands, and brought her mouth down to mine. I kissed her, slowly, deeply. I demanded her breath, demanded her tongue. I kissed her as if it was goodbye—I kissed her as a plea to not let it be goodbye.

Shaking all over, I ended the kiss.

She parted from my lips with a sob, touching her forehead to mine. Bracing her weight with one hand, she caressed my cheek with the other, tracing my lips with a thumb.

“Ram…” she breathed. “God, the way you kiss me…”

“What about it, Izzy?”

“Do it again. Kiss me like that again.” She tangled her fingers in my beard. “Kiss me like that again…and this time, Ram? Don’t stop.”

I nearly sobbed at that myself, but didn’t. My breath did catch, though, and my throat burned. My chest filled, swelled, expanded, cracked. Shaking all over, I wrapped my arms around her, enveloping her entirely, and kissed her with everything I was.

I devoured her mouth, let all my need and desperation and fear and wonder explode. She gasped, and returned the kiss with all of that, and more.

Her lips trembled against mine, her breathing came in gasps and snatches—we had to pause to breathe, and then our mouths clashed together again, lips and tongues and teeth crashing and tangling.

She whimpered and pulled away reluctantly, as if too overcome to be able to kiss me any longer but my kiss was life, breath, and meaning. “Ram…Jesus, Ram,” she breathed.

“Tell me, Izzy,” I whispered against her lips. “Tell me. Show me.”

“Ram.”

“Tell. Me.” I held her against me, pinned her body hard against mine. “Say it—say…it.”

She lifted her hips, reaching between us to wrap her fist around my painfully hard erection. Stroked me once, twice. Lifted further, so she was on her hands and knees again. I let her rise, but I watched her. Held on to her hips with both hands.

She clutched me tightly and just held on to me for a long, tense moment. And then she fell forward against me, smashing her breasts to my chest and her mouth against mine, sobbing.

“Ram—” she wept.

And with a single slow writhe of her hips, I was inside her slick wet center. I cried out, a pathetically soft, weak, shaking moan of sheer ecstasy—we were bare, nothing between us. I knew it, she knew it. Our eyes met, and the meaning of it passed between us, the fact that I was buried bare deep inside her, our hips pressed together, her belly trembling against mine as she fought to breathe, her breasts flattened against my chest, her forehead now bumping against mine.

We didn’t move. We just stayed like that, Izzy on top of me, fully impaled on me, shaking all over, whimpering softly, shuddering as if restraining sobs. I ached. I was so full with the need to release that it was a sharp spearing pain, but I held on. A single thrust, and I’d explode inside her, and we both knew it.

I shook with the exertion of holding back. “Izzy—” I snarled her name, and then bit her lip. “Say it.”

She shook her head, lifting up on her hands, head hanging, sobbing. “I can’t. I’m so scared it’s not real, that you’re not—that you won’t—”

I held utterly still, moving only my hands, then. I cupped her face in my hands and lifted her chin so she had to look at me—except she had her eyes squeezed shut tight.

“Open your eyes, Isadora.”

She obeyed, slowly. “Ram. I…I want to, I’m trying to; I’m just…” She shook her head without taking her eyes from mine.

So very softly, gingerly, carefully, I touched my lips to hers. Kept my hands cupped around her cheeks so she couldn’t look away.

“I fucking love you, Izz,” I said, snapping it. More softly, then. “I love you.”

She sobbed again, and brought her face to mine, tears streaming down her cheeks—I tasted her tears as she locked her lips to mine.

“Say it again,” she pleaded in a barely audible whisper.

“I love you, Izzy.”

She laughed softly, her lips curving against mine. Then, pulling her face away an inch or so, enough that she could look into my eyes, she writhed her hips away from mine, gliding my cock between those sweet, tender, tight lips of hers. Paused at just the right moment, when the very tip of me was left nestled just inside her.

She knew—she knew somehow how close I was. She felt it, felt me.

Another laugh, louder, more joyful and less disbelieving. She fell forward against me, burying her face in the side of my neck, her hands on my cheeks, fingers tangling in my beard. She fluttered lightly, teasingly, drawing a pained moan from me.

“Izz, fuck…” I snarled. “You need to hear it again?”

She laughed, nodded. “Yeah, I do. One more time.”

I slid my hands down her back, grinning at her as I cupped her ass, holding her in place. “I love you, Isadora Styles.” I held the crease of her hips, thumbs against the twin points of her hipbones. “I love you, Izz. I love you.”

She sobbed another laugh, and slapped her hips down against mine, driving me into her. I cried out, a feral snarl as my climax ripped through me like a lightning bolt. “Ram—Ram…I love you, god, I fucking love you, Ram!” She snaked her arms around my neck as I lifted my head to smash my mouth against hers, even as she began to chant those three words in time with our clashing, manic thrusts.

“I love you—I love you—I love you,” she breathed, over and over, her hips rolling fluidly against mine, taking me into her again and again as my orgasm shredded through me.

I came so hard I saw stars, a nova-hot explosion blasting me into gasping, snarling pieces. I thrust helplessly up against her, but now the pace and movements were all hers, I was too rigid with the crushing, grinding intensity of the climax. She bit my neck and then nipped my lips, and then we were kissing, and Izzy’s hips rolled and her ass slapped against me and I drove into her. She was so wet, so slick, so tight—I felt myself coming inside her, felt her pulsating around me, and I’d never in my life felt anything so wild, so intense as Izzy spasming around me, heard nothing so sweet as her screaming that she loved me as she came.

Her lips fumbled against mine, and she was still chanting I love you, I love you, I love you every time our bodies met, every time I crushed into her hot clenching wet center, and I felt her coming, felt my release pouring out of me, and I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could only just barely manage to pray her name—Izzy, Izzy, Izzy—as I lost all control.

I rolled over, arms around her, clenching her against my body with all my strength, so hard she squeaked and gasped, but her own grip on me only tightened to match the ferocity of mine, and we were grinding together, gasping mouth to mouth, salt on my lips and on hers—my tears or hers? I didn’t know, didn’t care, didn’t care if I was crying because like this, with her, it was right, it was perfect, it was love.

At last—at long, long last, Izzy rolled us again so she was on top once more, and she lifted up to sit upright on top of me. I cupped her breast, tweaked her nipple, and she giggled, writhing away but not stopping me.

Her eyes fixed on mine. “It’s not goodbye, Ram,” she breathed. “It’s…hello. It’s I love you.”

“Izzy—”

“It’s please, please, please—” and here her voice broke. “Please…promise me you’ll love me and never stop. Promise me, Ram. Promise me you won’t abandon me.”

Her hands raked compulsively down my chest. I was still inside her, and I’d just come—but how long had we lain together in panting, delicate silence, gasping, wrapped up in each other, clenching together, refusing to relinquish the moment?

“I could promise you that,” I said, and paused just for effect. “But…”

She froze. “But what, Ram?”

“It wouldn’t be enough.”

Izzy flopped forward against me, laughing. “You bastard. You had me for a second.”

“I’ve got you forever,” I said.

“Swear?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Because promises can be broken. This? You and me? It’s so much more than that. It can’t ever be broken.”

She sat on me, stared down at me, and let me play with her breasts, and she raked her fingernails down my chest and over my abs. “God, Ramsey. You really do have a way with words, you know that?”

“It’s just the truth, Izz.”

She leaned forward, bracing a palm on my chest, and reached back behind herself, finding my tender, tingling balls, and began massaging them in her palm. I was inside her, still, and she clutched the base of me and my sac together in her hand, slowly caressing and stroking. Her eyes stayed on mine, love now open in her expression.

“I need you again,” she murmured.

“Keep doing that,” I said.

She grinned hungrily. “Oh, I am. I feel you growing inside me.”

As I hardened, she let the sliding strokes of her hand cease and began a subtle roll of her hips, and then I was thickening inside her tight slick core and my physical heart was slamming fit to burst, and my metaphorical heart was exploding with love, and I couldn’t breathe for how it felt to be like this with her, to know this was real with this woman, so imperfectly perfect for me.

How long, then? I stopped keeping track of the seconds, the minutes, the hours. I cupped her breasts and she rode me, rising and falling with unhurried lazy love. And then, when I touched her clit, she cried out and began to ride me faster as I touched her, and she was grinding on me so hard her breasts were shaking and jouncing and our bodies collided with resounding claps and she screamed and cried and I roared—

And we came in the exact same moment, our voices and bodies merged. Her fingers interlaced with mine, pressing down so all of her weight was on my hands as she helplessly writhed on me, whimpering and wailing, and I supported her with shaking arms while driving up into her clenching core.

We never got tired of saying those three little words. We said them a million times that day, just to hear them, just to say them, knowing that whatever lay ahead, our love for one another would always be enough.