When we switch drivers again I tell Matt I want to sleep for a little while. But really I need a break from our conversation, from him. We’re always intense, but stuck together in a small space and talking about sex? Overload!

I lean my seat back and close my eyes, though I’m not sure I can really sleep. If not, I’ll pretend though. I want time to process our conversation and manage the growing dread I feel as we get closer and closer to D.C.—where we’ll part. We agreed that he’d stay over tonight at his family’s house so he could get me settled before driving to Connecticut. Tomorrow we say goodbye. But what about tonight? I know what we both want, but I’ve made it off limits.

I turn my head and crack my eyes open to study Matt’s profile. I have to swallow a sigh because my heart is overflowing with feelings for him—tenderness, admiration, longing, lust, confusion….

It’s clear now that he’s braver than I am, more secure in the face of this crazy thing between us and the gossip it has provoked. Is that just because he’s more experienced? He turns to glance at me as if he can feel the pressure of my attention—and maybe he can. I quickly squeeze my eyes shut to avoid more talking.

We make great time. When we pull into the Troubridges’ garage it’s only 8 p.m. even though we stopped several times. I gulp when I see the house because it’s formal and elegant, with a brick façade and tall windows facing a tree-lined street. Matt shows me around and I feel intimidated. The ground floor is clearly designed for entertaining, with two huge connected rooms set up for dining or gathering and a professional-style kitchen facing a well-groomed backyard. The second floor features a library and offices. Matt explains that his mother’s personal assistant, a woman named Mary Mackenzie, keeps an office here and will be around to help if I need anything. It isn’t until we reach the upper floors that the place feels like a home, with a large master suite and several smaller bedrooms spread out over two more floors.

“You can use Lucy’s room,” Matt says, opening a door. I peer in and see a large, pretty, but fairly anonymous room.

“How often do you two stay here?” I ask, dropping my bag and watching him cross the landing to another door. He opens it, revealing a room almost identical to the first.

“Not much,” he admits. “Rarely more than a night or two at a time. I don’t keep anything here except some formal wear for official events. You know, when we have to attend some big fundraiser or government function.”

“Of course,” I murmur. I’m not sure whether I’m amused or put off by this side of him.

He turns to me, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You hungry? Tired? I gave you the keys, right?”

I look away and study the floor, the ceiling, the pictures on the walls—everything but him. “Not hungry. Yes, tired, but not sleepy. I’m still jittery from all that driving. And yes, you gave me the keys.”

He nods slowly. “It’s too early to crash. Why don’t you look for something on TV?” He jerks his head over toward another door. “There’s one in there. Mary Mac said she left instructions for you somewhere. I’ll go look for them. She said she’d come by tomorrow.” He darts a glance at me before descending the stairs again.

I move on autopilot, wondering just how awkward tonight will be. This room actually looks comfortable and lived in, with a long sectional sofa and a flat-screen TV. After fumbling with the remote, I spin through random cable channels, still feeling disoriented as I try to process the images flickering before me. What am I looking for again? The long emotional road trip has left me feeling like a zombie. Then something clicks.

“Matt!” I yell, dropping onto the sofa and gluing my eyes to the screen. I hear footsteps rushing toward me before he careens into the room and skids to a halt.

“Anni—what’s the matter? You freaked me out!”

Then his gaze follows mine and he stops. “Hell yeah! This is live?” He drops onto the sofa beside me and we both lean forward, avid.

“Uh huh! Lithuania versus Ecuador!” I squeal.

“I thought the first broadcast game was tomorrow—”

“I think this is a Spanish cable channel.”

There’s a pause while we assess what we’re seeing.

“Ecuador’s got this,” Matt says, as the team drives the ball down field, passing beautifully.

“Shut up! There are Estonians on the Lithuanian team! Watch Kirov there—number 15. He’s amazing. And their goalie’s Latvian but he’s no slouch.”

Matt bursts out laughing and wraps an arm around my shoulder, drawing me closer and settling back against the cushions. I toe off my shoes and stretch my legs out on the sofa, angling myself so I can see the screen and still cuddle against him.

“I don’t know a single American girl who’s into soccer,” he says with what might be awe.

“Football,” I correct, smirking. I rest my head against his shoulder, all my earlier discomfort and anxiety dissolving.

He strokes my hair absently. “Something to be said for European girls,” he mutters, intent on the game. We both jolt upright as an Ecuadoran player kicks a line drive toward the goal, but the goalie blocks the shot.

“Told ya,” I say, settling back into him.

“Huh.” He kisses the top of my head, clearly distracted. That’s fine with me. Right now, everything’s fine with me.

* * *

I blink in confusion. My legs are stiff, my shoulder is cramped, and…where am I? Then I register the warm hard body spooned against me and snap my head around to meet Matt’s eyes. His are warm and amused. Mine must be wide and confused. His hand moves up and down my side, soothing me like I’m a skittish animal. Which is about how I feel right now.

I glance up and see the TV is dark and there’s light sneaking in around the curtains in the windows. I wrinkle my forehead.

“What time is it?” My voice is cracked and sleepy. Matt smiles and I shiver because he’s really too close. I shift so I can face him better.

“Nine a.m.,” he says softly.

“Maybe we should have stopped after that second game.”

I remember how excited we were to realize that this channel was broadcasting earlier taped games as soon as the live one finished.

“Nah. The third one went to penalty kicks.”

I scramble for my wits. “Wait. France and Ghana? Who won? Shit, I fell asleep before the tiebreaker? Who won?” I repeat because Matt is just smiling stupidly at me. I nudge him with my foot and his smile widens.

“Maaattt!” I whine.

“France.” He admits finally, and I ponder this.

“So France will face Ecuador?”

He nods, his warm gaze sliding over me. I realize I must look a mess and put a hand up to smooth my hair.

“You’re adorable, all flushed and rumpled,” he says, as if he can read my mind.

I scowl at him, edging away. “Weren’t you going to get an early start?”

“Mmm hmm. But this is better.” He reaches for my hand and tangles his legs with mine, so I’m caught again.

“We should get up,” I say brightly, scooting backwards as best I can. “And get dressed and eat and shower and do all those morning things people do when it’s a new day.”

“Soon,” he says, interlocking our fingers. All my nerve endings are on high alert, and I feel hypnotized by the look in his eyes. “I’m stocking up for the next three months.” His thumb circles my palm.

I know all too well what he means.

“We don’t always have to be wild, you know. I wanted to show you we could be sweet too. Just falling asleep on the sofa.” He sounds rueful, awkward, un-Matt-like.

I’m so moved I’m speechless so I just stare at him, my mouth parting. He brushes his thumb against my lower lip and I feel it all the way to my toes.

“You did show me,” I blurt out. Now I’m the one who sounds awkward. “You are,” I whisper, “showing me.”

His expression fills with relief and he gives me a small smile, then nods. His gaze lingers on my mouth for a moment and I hold my breath, hoping he’ll kiss me. But he disentangles us and shoves to his feet, pulling me with him. We pause for a moment, standing close.

“I wouldn’t want you to think I’m only about jumping your bones.” His mouth quirks up and he pulls away reluctantly, running a hand through his messy hair.

I’m grateful for his restraint because I’m struggling. He’s going to leave now, my brain reminds me. He’s going. He’s going.

Taking a deep breath, I force a smile. “Likewise. But I think we’re good.” We start to move apart hesitantly.

“Good,” he repeats, scratching his jaw. “I’ll just…shower. And shave. Then go.”

This is agony.

I exhale loudly. “Sure. I’ll go…see if there’s any food here…or coffee.”

I turn and dash out of the room before I burst into tears or launch myself at him or show any sign of the emotional turmoil inside me. I can do this!

In the kitchen I find coffee and even a familiar espresso maker. By the time Matt comes downstairs, dumping his bag near the door, I’ve made toast and poured coffees. He looks smooth again—clean-shaven, freshly dressed, and well rested. I almost miss the wrinkled, rumpled guy I woke up with—and I wonder how deep his surface composure runs right now. We eat in awkward silence until he breaks it, clearing his throat.

“Just to be clear. We’re not dating.” He pauses, waiting.

I shake my head slowly, my eyes on his.

“And we’re not hooking up.”

I shake my head again, willing the emotions to recede.

“And we’re not friends with benefits. Are we friends, Anni?” He sounds so sad I want to reach across the table and comfort him. I nod, wordless. He sighs, looks away, then looks back at me.

“Why?” he asks bluntly. And I know he’s not asking why we’re friends.

“You know why,” I say in a low voice. “It’s too late. The do-over is over. People would talk again.”

He leans forward, holding my gaze. “We have the whole summer away from those ‘people’ you keep mentioning. I call bullshit, Annika. You’re afraid. And you’re braver than that.”

My defenses kick in. “We’re too intense. It’s not supposed to be like that.”

I can see his impatience rising. “Supposed to!” he scoffs. “How would you even know what it’s supposed to be like?”

“I know what I want!”

“No,” he says, standing. He puts his coffee cup in the dishwasher and turns to face me while leaning back against the counter. He’s so distracting to look at that it’s hard to listen. “You know what you want to want.”

He levels me with his gaze. “And because you can’t accept what you really want we’re going to spend three long months apart, dating other people and pretending, which is what I thought you were so against in the first place.”

He shakes his head at me, and I squirm. The idea of either of us dating other people makes me sick to my stomach.

“That’s right,” I say defiantly. He presses his lips together and gives me a stern look.

“I need something from you,” he says after a long pause. I raise an eyebrow and wait. ”You’re freaked out. I get it. I’m a little freaked out too. But when we’re back at school we reassess. We talk about us again. I’m letting you go—for now. I’m giving you space—for now.”

The emphasis on those last words makes me shiver and I wrap my arms around myself, feeling vulnerable. “Talk?”

“Talk.” His expression is serious.

And what did I think would happen when we got back to school? How did I imagine we would keep our hands off each other when we run into each other all the time? Would we just be friends or go back to this awkward stalemate?

“Okay.”

“You promise me?” He won’t let me look away.

I nod.

“Say it, Anni.”

And his voice growling my name makes memories come rushing back in, flooding me with wanting.

“I promise.” It’s only a whisper, but he hears me. I’m so attuned to him that I can see the slightest easing of tension in his bunched muscles.

“I better get going,” he says briskly now, pausing in front of me. He puts both hands on my shoulders. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

I nod. He smells amazing.

Then he nods and releases me to move toward the door. “Bye, Annika.”

He sounds so calm! I blink and watch him leave, then move to the front window and watch him drive away, feeling numb. This is what I wanted, I remind myself.

Unless it’s only what I wanted to want.