Standing in front of his door, the gusto of the moment is beginning to fade, and now I’m just nervous as hell. What if he’s finished with me? What if he thought it’s over and thinks Brooks is right that he should stay away from me? It all whirls together and muddles the thoughts in my brain, but then I wonder, what if he loves me and is just waiting for me to realize I could love him, too? Before I can talk myself out it, I knock loudly on the door of his downtown loft.

No one answers, so I knock again. Still no answer. I look down at my watch and tap the glass face. Ten is late, but not that late, especially for Lakin. I knock one last time, but when he still doesn’t answer, I turn and head back to the elevator.

My confidence has flattened, my nerve gone. When the metal door opens, my shoulders slouch in defeat and I walk into the elevator. I feel stupid; this was such a bad idea. I want nothing more than to skulk home and crawl into my bed, pretend none of this happened.

Then the doors open, and there he is.

He drops a bag of pastries, the rough landing forcing the plastic lid to pop off and allows a few of the cupcakes to spill across the marble floor. He blinks a few times in disbelief.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asks.

Without a word, I move out of the elevator and bend down to clean up the spill, but he grabs my bicep and halts my movement. “Leave it, Cam. Tell me why you’re here.”

I can tell by the way he says it that he knows why; he just wants to hear me say the words.

“I, uh,” I stammer. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He steps over the bag and pushes me to the back of the elevator and pins my arms above my head. “What did you need to say, Cam?” His voice is raspy and tempting. He’s daring me to bare my soul, and heaven help me, I want to reveal it all.

The doors close behind us.

The only sound is our breathing, tangling and mingling into an intoxicating passion that I no longer want to resist. His body pressed against mine feels like a peace I’ve never known and the sensation is overwhelmingly distracting.

“Tell me, love” he whispers into my neck.

Without hesitation, I give in to his request. “You were right; I’m a liar,” I murmur.

He pulls away, perplexed by my response. He focuses every bit of his attention on my eyes, searching them for an answer. He looks as though he could swallow me whole, taking every bit of my fear, shame, sin, and lack of confidence with each delicious lick. Eluding his advances is no longer an option, nor would I want it to be.

“I want you to show me the truth,” I say with a knowing smile. His understanding snaps into place with a grin before he smashes his lips onto mine. Without contemplating the consequences or the implications of our relationship, we blissfully drown into each other. His mouth and hands bring my body to life, and I attempt to match him with equal vigor.

“Hmm, excuse me, are you finished with the elevator?” I hear a gentleman ask after he clears his throat.

Lakin and I break apart and I stifle a laugh into his shoulder when I notice that not only have the elevator doors opened again on the ground floor of the lobby, but a middle-aged couple were witness to some, or possibly most, of our elevator make-out session.

“Sorry, sir. I thought I had punched the button,” he says as he presses the button for his floor. “Have a lovely evening,” he adds as the doors close.

Immediately we both burst out laughing. “How embarrassing,” I giggle.

“Just a tad,” he laughs. “At least you get to leave and save yourself from any future humiliation. I pass that guy every morning on my way to work.”

The doors once again slide open and we step into the hallway to his apartment. Lakin laces his fingers with mine, kisses my knuckles, and pulls me to his front door. “I’ll gladly accept every ounce of embarrassment if it means I get to kiss you again,” he says before opening the door for me.

I’ve been to his loft several times, but it feels different now. Although we’ve allowed ourselves to dive into a forbidden realm, the tension is no less palpable. I’m unsure of how to proceed. I don’t know how to behave around him or what to say. My insecurities heighten now that there’s something different on the table for us. My hands start to get clammy and I fidget to calm my nerves, which have my stomach doing flip-flops.

Lakin notices my discomfort and pulls me to him. “Relax, it’s just me. It’s the same old us.” He lightly lands a kiss on my temple and I melt into his arms. The anxiety evaporates and all I feel is ease.

I nod and he squeezes my hand once more.

“Now, are you hungry? I was bringing you dinner and cake for your birthday, but it ended up in the trash and all over the lobby floor. Remind me to tip the super a little extra this year for having to clean that frosting mess up,” he says mindlessly as he moves into the kitchen.

He opens the fridge and rattles off a few of the options he has, which isn’t much. Actually, it’s rather pathetic what his fridge and cupboards contain. “I thought you were Mr. Kung Fu? Aren’t you supposed to have a well-stocked kitchen with plenty of protein and carbs for training days or something?” I tease.

“Hey now. You ladies have granny-panty laundry day; I’m allowed to have take-out grocery day,” he defends, pulling a stack of take-out menus from a drawer and throwing them on the granite countertop.

“Anything that delivers is fine with me; I’m starving.” My stomach grumbles in confirmation and Lakin laughs.

“The sooner the better, I suppose as well.”

He snatches his cell phone from the pocket of his athletic jacket and dials the number to a pizza place nearby. I take the opportunity to stroll around his apartment and evaluate his place a little more in depth than I cared to before.

I’m surprised at how comfortable his apartment is. It’s sleek and modern, but not so minimal that it feels cold. It’s the exact opposite, actually. The black and white photography of historical buildings and parks strategically mixed in with family photos give off an element of sophistication while still maintaining that homey allure. The splashes of color against a grey base color scheme screams interior decorator.

It doesn’t shock me that he would spend the money or time on professional help with his space. Lakin is a man who enjoys the finer things in life and has the bank account to indulge those compulsions. Designer suits, prestigious universities, country clubs, and rubbing shoulders with industry leaders are in his blood. It’s no wonder he would seek outlets like jujitsu to relieve the pressure of his life. I’m not sure where I’ll fit into that life. The girl from foster care with vintage t-shirts, who prefers vinyl records to digital downloads, and manages bands doesn’t exactly exemplify that trophy wife image.

His arms snake around my waist and pulls my body to his chest. “What’s rolling around in that head of yours?” he asks playfully as he kisses my neck. “I’ve found that to be a dangerous place to be.”

I turn in his arms and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“I’m not sure I want to answer that question. It feels like a trick.” A serious tone laces his voice, all playfulness is absent from his delivery. I scowl, so he continues his explanation. “No matter how I answer, Campbell, I don’t think it will be what you’re looking for.”

He’s right.

My mind is attempting to force my heart into believing he and I are an impossibility. No matter how he answered, I would find a way to discredit our predicament. For all the advice I offer so freely to others, I struggle to follow it myself.

“I just need to know that you’re sure,” I try to explain.

He rubs his hands lightly up and down my back. Sneaking under my shirt, he traces lines and swirl patterns with his fingertips on my skin, lighting it ablaze. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Campbell,” he whispers into my ear. “Now that I have you, I don’t plan on ever letting you go. So prepare that mind of yours to stop overthinking everything.”