“We shouldn’t be doing this.” “You’re right.” He kisses my neck as if he said nothing. My grip tightens on his shirt as disappointment curls in my stomach, an ache blooming in my chest. Of course he agrees. It’s always been him to push me away. “Look at me.” My eyes meet his, and he searches my gaze. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.” He runs his nose along mine. “I want to be here.”
