“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I counter.

His face hardens. “Why not?”

I sigh, pinch my lips together, and cock my head at the same angle his was cocked. “Because we broke up,” I hiss, irritation spreading through me. “So you spending your weekend apologizing to me wouldn’t have mattered. You were apologizing to someone who wasn’t yours anymore.”

I try and get past him again by squeezing between him and the wall, but Richard steps over and blocks me.

He isn’t a big guy. Not nearly as big as some people . . .

But I’m little, so unless I get a running start, I don’t have a chance of pushing through.

“When the fuck did we break up?” he asks, eyes now full blown filled with confusion and searching my face. “Did you say it was over? Did I? Because I sure as fuck don’t remember telling you we were done.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue with conviction when memories flood me. My lips press together. Friday night plays back like a movie inside my head.

I'm packing my things and speaking as if Richard’s still standing in the doorway.

“You’re taking everything out on me, like I’m the one who fired you. All week you’ve been giving me shit about it. I don’t deserve that. I deserve better than that! And you know what? I bet Reed would understand if I didn’t show up this weekend, because he’s an understanding person, but you’re not! You’re expecting me to choose between you and my family. That isn’t fair. It’s not fair. But you know what? I’ll choose. You want me to choose? I’m choosing right now.”

But he wasn't standing in the doorway anymore. I knew that. He was already downstairs, in the kitchen getting another beer.

Richard didn’t say we were broken up. He said a lot of things, mean things, but he didn’t say it. And I didn’t say it. Not really. And what I did say, he didn't even hear.

Then I left. Hauled ass out of there wanting space and needing it to happen immediately. I left angry and upset and thinking we were broken up, but we weren’t because neither one of us said it.

Oh, God . . .

I slept with CJ Tully when I had a boyfriend at home waiting for me.

A boyfriend who was sorry.

A boyfriend who's been trying to contact me all weekend, but because I've kept my phone off, I didn't get his calls saying he's still my boyfriend.

Nonononono. This can’t be happening. One of us said it. I know we did.

Except we didn't.

Shit.

Shit!

I thought we were over. I should’ve gotten confirmation before storming out, but I didn’t. What's wrong with me?

“If anything, we were just on a break, which I'm not convinced of since neither one of us said we wanted that shit, but whatever,” Richard says, pressing his forearm to the wall and leaning on it. “Now you’re back so, break’s over.”

My mouth drops open. His does the thing that drew me in from the start; half of it lifting into a smile that looks both cute and inexplicably sexy. Then he pushes off from the wall, steps into me, and cups my face with both hands.

Hands that aren’t as big or rough and feel so different now that I’ve felt another’s.

“All of that shit I said and everything we’ve been fighting about, that’s not me. You know me, Riley. How long have we been doing this?”

“A long time,” I reply hoarsely.

“Year and a half,” he clarifies, making my heart feel heavy. “We’ve got roots in this. You’re the most important thing in my life. No way is a fight like that gonna tear us apart, baby. No fucking way.”

My stomach drops.

“Baby,” CJ moans when I lean over and suck him into my mouth.

“I love you, Riley.”

My lip starts trembling as tears build behind my lashes.

What have I done?

“I thought we were broken up,” I whisper with a shaky voice.

He gives me a look like he understands, but he doesn't. He can't.

“Come here.” Richard pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me, keeping one hand on the back of my head and the other low on my back. He drops his face beside mine. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that shit, okay?” he whispers while stroking my hair.

Sobs vibrate in my throat and rattle inside my chest. My tears soak into his shirt as arms that aren’t as strong as another’s comfort me when they should be pushing me away.

I can’t hold Richard back. I can’t tell him what I’ve done.

And when he asks if I love him with his lips against my ear, I can’t lie and tell him I don’t.

Like he said, we have roots in this.

I’ve only ever loved one man outside of my family. And Richard is it. He’s my first in a lot of ways. And you don’t easily let go of your first.

So I nod, not being able to say the words out loud, but instead, giving him my answer with my head buried in his chest.

He grips the back of my neck and brings his other hand between us to lift my chin, then he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me the way he always kisses me, slow and full of tongue and with lips that are familiar, and I force myself to kiss him back because this is the mouth I should be kissing. And when it feels off and not right, I grow determined and slide my hands to his neck to pull him closer. I roll up onto my toes, slant my mouth against his, and go for it.

“I’m having a real hard time not kissing you right now.”