My parents will be here in the morning, and my belly is full of nerves over it, but they’re happy nerves. I don’t know how I’m going to introduce Nate, but I know my mom and her intuition, so I don’t think I will have to say much. I just hope they love him as much as they always loved Josh.

Josh was a part of our family, almost from the very beginning. He spent time with my father without me. Sure, usually talking baseball. But there was a love there, a connection. I desperately want them to feel that with Nate.

“There, smell better?” Nate says, coming in his room after showering. His hair is wet and twisted in all directions. I love the way the ends are golden from the sun.

“It’ll do,” I tease, causing him to toss his wet towel from his hand at me.

“I’m pretty sure you’re staying here again tonight. I think that’s the real reason Ty wanted us to make up,” Nate says, slipping one of his McConnell baseball shirts over his head. I’m a little disappointed that he does, because if anything is going to happen tonight, Nate is going to need to be the aggressor. I’m too…I’m just too new at all this.

“Yes, I bet he’s glad to end the fussy fuss,” I laugh.

“Oh god, I swear, him and fussy fuss! He used to make fun of me when we were kids with that damned phrase. He’d punch me, steal my ice cream, and then tell Mom I was making a fussy fuss.”

“That’s mean.”

“Right? I’m such a victim,” Nate says. He sits next to me and folds his hands together and leans forward to rest them against his knees. His smile is shy and uncomfortable, and it’s sweet. We both keep stealing glances, then looking away as soon as we’re caught. It’s funny how putting your feelings out in the open can add this whole new layer to your world. We both seem to be sort of stuck, not knowing what to do with one another or how to act. And I wish like hell he’d just kiss me and keep going.

“You wanna get him back?” I say, just trying to erase the awkwardness in the air.

“Huh?”

“Ty. You wanna get him back? You know, for the years of abuse?” I raise my eyebrows, and Nate stands up with a big smile.

“Uh, yeah I do. What’d you have in mind, Prankmaster?”

“Oh, so you acknowledge that I am in fact the master now, do you?” I say, standing and poking at his chest. He pulls me in for a quick kiss.

“You had me at pink,” he winks, and I roll my eyes.

“Okay, Jerry Maguire.”

I spend a few minutes looking around Nate and Ty’s room, pulling open a few drawers and looking for just the right point of attack.

“He has a Playboy in here. We could pull some pages out and glue them into his textbook so they show up in class,” I suggest.

“No, Ty would actually like that. In fact, I think he’s done that before,” Nate says, joining me to flip through drawers and look under Ty’s bed.

I’m about to give up, when I get to the bottom drawer and I move a few balls of socks to the side. “Uh, Nate? What…is this?” I ask holding up the small, brown teddy bear with two mismatched button eyes.

“That’s Cookie!” he says, taking it from me and squeezing it once. “Unbelievable! I can’t believe he still has this thing…and he brought it, to grad school!”

“Nate…we have our target,” I smirk, taking the bear back from his hands and tucking it in the bottom of my purse. “This bear is being held hostage, and Ty is about to be our bitch for the next few days.”

“I LOVE it!” he says, laughing and picking me up in his arms and swinging me around. “You…are a genius! An evil genius—an evil, sexy genius!”

He kisses me with a little more force, still holding my legs off of the ground, and the more he kisses me, the more I can tell his mood has changed. I don’t even hesitate with he finally sets my feet on the ground and begins walking me backward toward his bed, all the while his lips on mine. I pull my shirt over my head, and he follows with his. It was only on him for minutes, and I’m so glad it’s off again.

Things get real when he reaches for the button on his jeans, unsnapping and kicking them from his legs. And all of the absoluteness—the sureness and confidence I had felt moments before—starts to wane. Nate is not Josh. And I’m glad he’s not, because Nate is who I love now. But he’s not some sixteen-year-old inexperienced boy. It’s clear in the way he looks, in the way he moves and in the way he’s touching me now.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, sensing my nerves. How could he not, I’m pretty sure my entire body is shaking. But just the thought of stopping—of not getting to have him completely—makes my heart hurt, so I shake my head quickly before he can change his mind.