Tonight was everything I swore I could never handle. I got too close to a street kid and she almost ripped my heart out. And worse than the worry and the pain I was in thinking about Mac being on the street again was the worry and pain I saw in Brie’s face. I realized as I walked the streets looking for Mac, that if Brie’s heart was broken over this, it was my fault. I brought Mac into her life.

I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d caused Brie pain…because I was falling in love with her. Another thing that I swore I would never do because I wouldn’t be any good at it. But Brie, right now, as the emotional dust of this day settles around us, is looking at me with tenderness and relief, like having me here is making her life better and not worse. She needs me and I am not failing her, not because I learned how to be a boyfriend but because I somehow just instinctually know how to be what she needs. It feels natural and right.

And as soon as our lips connect my whole body relaxes. Muscles I didn’t even know I had start loosen. I hold her hips and pull her closer but when our lips touch, I let her control the kiss. She starts slow, easy, gentle and then her tongue finds mine and she teases, touching and retreating and then touching again. For the first time in my life I understand all those lyrics from love songs, the ones about falling in love and the ones about getting your heart broken. Because this woman…she is the only person that’s ever made me feel this good, which I know means she can make me feel worse than I’ve ever felt too. I push that fact away as she walks back toward her bedroom, still holding on to me, her lips still on mine. She lets go and quietly closes the door, leaning against it as she looks up at me. “We have to be quiet.”

I smile. “I know. But I don’t intend to make that easy for you.”

She grins. “Do your best.” And pulls her shirt over her head.

I reach behind my back and pull my shirt over my head too. Her hands are on me before it even hits the floor, sliding up my abdomen leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. I take her head in my hands and kiss her—hard and deep.

The sex is different and not just because it’s slow and gentle. It’s different for me because I’m letting myself feel more than just her body. Not that her body isn’t enough. She’s wet and warm and tight in all the right places and it would be great sex no matter what. But for the first time I’m feeling more than just the physical act. I’m feeling the unspoken words in our kisses and the promises in our touch. I have no idea how to make love to someone but I hope she knows that’s what I’m trying to do.

When I come, I bury my face against her neck to muffle the groan I can’t contain and to hide the look on my face because I know it’s pure need. I’ve never needed anyone, my whole life, and now I need her.

I clean up, throwing the condom in her trash and lie back down in bed beside her. I pull her into my chest and she rests her head on my chest. “You think she heard us?”

“No,” she whispers back. “She’s got to be passed out cold with exhaustion. I know I’m about to.”

She tilts her head so she’s looking up at me, but her eyelids are heavy and start to flutter closed immediately. Watching her makes me realize how tried I am. I look around the room. It’s got a decent-sized window, but heavy curtains that are drawn shut. And Brie has a canopy bed frame with gauzy, sheer white curtains. They’re drawn back in each corner right now but the idea of sleeping here still makes me feel a little claustrophobic, which means I’ll most likely have nightmares. Between that and the fact that I’ve come to realize they’re triggered by change or uncertainty—like getting traded or moving or other big life events—I’m almost guaranteed to have one tonight.

“I won’t be here in the morning,” I tell her. “I can’t spend the night here.”

“Oh.” She looks confused and even a little hurt. Fuck. I’m already ruining things.

I run a hand over the back of her head, my fingers slipping through her hair. “I’m a restless sleeper on a good night. And my claustrophobia issues, which you’ve witnessed, sometimes kick in when I try to sleep in small rooms.”

I watch her big brown eyes dart around the room. “This is a decent-sized room for New York,” she defends, but the hurt is gone from her gaze. “I mean it’s not a twelve-hundred-foot loft but it’s decent.”

I smile. “Even that loft feels claustrophobic sometimes.”

She places a palm on my chest just over my heart and rests her chin on top of it as she looks at me and softly asks, “What happened to you to make you claustrophobic?”

I shrug. She’s not buying it and I didn’t expect she would but it’s instinct to deny, evade, lie. But she’s not going to let it go. “Alex, I won’t judge you.”

“You should,” I reply and kiss her forehead before gently nudging her off me and standing up. She reaches out for my hand, stopping me. I look down at her, all messy sex hair and swollen lips and flushed cheeks. She’s stunning.

“I think you might have PTSD,” she says quietly.

“What?”

“I don’t know for sure, but that’s what it seems like, Alex.”

I frown and shake my head. “Soldiers get that.”

“Lots of people get that,” she counters calmly. “Especially children who have been through a traumatic event. Did someone hurt you when you were a kid?”

I hesitate, then nod. “And I’m not ready to talk to you about it.” I walk over and cup her face in my hands. “I want this, but I have to…you have to give me time. I don’t talk about this—ever with anyone.”

“What about seeing a therapist?” she asks. “A clinical psychologist could help you.”

“Like you?” I feel instantly uneasy. She can’t be my shrink.

“No. I can’t. I’m not practicing and if I was, I’m not supposed to get orgasms from people I treat,” she says, smiling softly. “But I can recommend someone.”

I take a deep breath. “I’ll think about it.” She nods and I bend down and kiss her softly on that pretty mouth of hers. I glance at the clock behind her on the night table. “I should go.”

She nods again. I finish getting dressed and she follows me out to the front door.

“Would you like to go on a date?” I ask her before I open her front door. “A real date, just the two of us. Like a couple.”

She looks shocked but happy. “Yes. When?”

“I have a game tomorrow night so how about the night after?”

“I’d love to.” She rocks up on her tiptoes to kiss me good night.

I head out into the New York streets filled with emotions I’d never thought I’d feel—happiness and hope.