“Yes.” I was aware it sounded ridiculous.
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrows.
“You heard me, Mads. Bullshit. If I loved you, you can be damn sure that I’d let someone take you away from me before I’d let them kill you. Come up with a better argument, or admit I’m right.”
“Fine. You… didn’t ask how I felt about sharing a bed last night.”
“I offered to sleep on the couch.”
“You didn’t ask how I felt about a lot of things, actually.”
His eyes narrowed. “I tried to make you comfortable, constantly.”
“That’s not the same as asking how I feel about something. Like you following me into my apartment yesterday. Or moving out of it. Or moving in here. Or living together. Or?—”
“I get it. I’m shitty at asking how you feel.”
“You are.” Finally, he was letting me put some distance between us.
“That doesn’t mean I don’tcarehow you feel. Or that I don’t love you,” Bo said.
Dammit.
“How do you feel about me loving you, Madi?” he added.
I’d hosed myself.
Was there anything sexier than a man asking a question like that? Especially while he leaned over the countertop, staring at you like he was hungry and you were the only meal he wanted to eat?
“Terrified.” The quiet answer slipped out before I could stop it.
There was a moment’s pause before he admitted, “Me too.”
“I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything, Ambrose.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not.”
“I guess.”
“You know what else I feel about loving you?” he asked.
“I don’t think I want to, no.”
His lips curved upward. “Excited.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be excited about love.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s terrifying!” I gestured between us. “We know nothing about love, Bo.”
“We can figure it out.”
