No.

No way.

The sound of the buzzing ends as Blossom turns to look at the door, but I still hear and feel the vibration of the tattoo gun. “Hey, honey.” She smiles widely as Gareth walks across the room toward her, not noticing me sitting a few feet away.

When he’s close, he leans down, kissing her cheek and saying “Hey, Auntie.”

“Where are my boys?” she asks, and I wonder if April—who is still lying face-down—knows who Blossom’s nephew is. If she does and if this was a set up, I’m going to kill her.

“With Mom at a movie.”

“Got it,” she says, and then she looks at me and I feel myself freeze when he follows her gaze. “That’s December. December, this is my nephew Gareth.”

“Wait… what?” April’s head jerks up quickly.

Okay, seems she didn’t know that Gareth is Blossom’s nephew. Good to know I don’t have to figure out how to hide her body.

“Shit,” Gareth hisses.

“Umm....” I look from April, who looks shocked, to Blossom, who looks confused, and then back to Gareth, who looks a mixture of surprised and annoyed.

“Do you two know each other?” Blossom asks, glancing between Gareth and me.

“Umm….” I repeat, my mind so overwhelmed by seeing him again that I can’t seem to form a thought, let alone words.

“You could say that,” Gareth answers in a low voice that sends a chill across my skin and through me.

“Well.” Blossom frowns. “She has a tattoo she needs designed. Are you cool if she explains it to you?”

I watch him closely and can see his mind working. I can tell by his expression and body language that he doesn’t want to talk to me about a tattoo, or about anything at all.

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll—”

“No problem,” he cuts me off before I can get us both out of this awkward situation. “Let’s go to the drawing room.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” April snaps, and my gaze goes to her. I can see she’s still pissed about his text and is getting ready to pick a fight.

“It’s fine. I’ll be back.” I stand, trying to give her a reassuring look, which she doesn’t catch because she never pulls her eyes off Gareth, even as he turns his back to her to open the door.

With a deep breath, I follow him into another room, watching him flip on the lights and then the computer. I wrap my arms around my middle and wait, not sure what I’m supposed to do or say.

“You can sit over here.” He doesn’t look at me; he just motions with his hand to an empty chair cattycorner to his.

I don’t want to sit. I want to find a bathroom and throw up. My stomach is turning with a mixture of nerves and anxiety as I stare at the side of his face. Lord, he’s still gorgeous, and seeing he’s still mad at me about what happened doesn’t sit well.

When I don’t move, he turns his head and our eyes lock. “Come sit down.”

My stomach knots at his rude order, and my mouth opens without my mind telling it to. “Please.”

“What?”

“Come sit down, please. Is the polite way to ask someone to sit.”

“Come sit down, please,” he repeats with his jaw clenched. I move then and take a seat, twisting my hands in my lap. “My aunt said you want a tattoo designed and that it’s detailed. Tell me about it.”

God, I wish things between us weren’t like they are. I wish I would’ve never snuck out on him. I wish he could understand why I did and forgive me. “I’m sorry,” I blurt, and his head jerks back in surprise. “About what happened… I’m sorry about what happened.”

“I’m over it.” His jaw ticks. “Now tell me about your tattoo.”

Obviously, he’s not over it. Actually, I wonder if like me he’s been dwelling on it for days. “You might be over it, but I’m not,” I say quietly. “I hate that you’re mad at me. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. All I can say is I’m sorry for leaving like I did. You were right that it was immature, and—”

“Stop,” he grounds out, and I snap my mouth shut then bite my bottom lip. What the hell am I doing? “Why did you leave?” At his question, my body jerks and my muscles lock. I can’t possibly tell him why I left. “Tell me.”

“Why? It doesn’t even matter.” My heart starts to pound in my chest as he stares at me.

“I think you and I both know it does,” he says softly while his eyes scan my face. “Tell me.” Why did I open my mouth? “Tell me,” he repeats, and I pull in a breath, figuring it doesn’t matter if he knows now.

“My sister said she wanted you,” I admit, dropping my eyes from his to look at my hands still clasped in my lap. “She doesn’t. She just—”

“I don’t care about that. I care about why you snuck out of my bed without a word.”

“Can we not do this?” I question, peeking at him through my lashes. My heart is not just pounding against my rib cage anymore; it’s now thundering away while embarrassment creeps up my chest and neck, flooding my cheeks making them hot.

“I think you owe me some kind of explanation, since every fucking day for the last week I’ve woken up with you on my mind, a hard-on I can’t seem to get rid of, and your scent still clinging to my bed, even though I’ve washed my sheets three fucking times since you were in it.”

Is he serious? I lift my head to search his gaze.

“Why did you sneak out?”

God, I don’t want to tell him, but I need to. I need to get this over with so I can move on. So we can move on. “When my sisters and I were younger, we had a rule,” I start, and he cuts me off.

“Fuck me, let me guess.” He shakes his head. “If one of you was interested in a guy, none of you could approach him.”

“Basically,” I agree. I know if I caught a glimpse of myself right now, my chest and face would be bright red.

“You came home with me,” he states.

“I know.”

“So you coming home with me was about what? About you rebelling against your sister?”

“No!” I almost shout. No way do I want him to think I went home with him just because of April.

“Then why?”

“When I first saw you—” I stop and press my lips together, and then close my eyes and finish. “—there was something about you, and when April said she wanted you, I got mad. I was mad that she saw you first. Mad that I was going to miss out on something, even if I didn’t know what that something was.”My throat gets tight.

“You snuck out.”

“I know.”

“Look at me, babe,” he orders, and my eyes open. “I should not have said what I said to you over text.” My lips part at his admission. “I’ve wanted to call you every fucking day to apologize. I didn’t, but I should have. If you can forgive me for that, I can forgive you for what happened.”

“You were right to be mad. I would have been too,” I say softly, and his eyes flash with some kind of emotion that is there and gone way too quickly for me to read. “But I am really sorry.”