Page 143 of One Wrong Move

That makes me chuckle. “No, no, I don’t think that will be necessary. His ego is… well, it was always fairly fragile. He measured himself against you a lot. Now, knowing that you and I are…”

Nate’s lips tip up at the corners, and his thumb strokes across my cheek. “We are…?”

“Well, you know. Involved.”

“That’s right. Involved,” he says. “He won’t bother you again. Let me know if he does, and I’ll handle him.”

“Yeah,” I say, but guilt churns in my stomach. I try to shake it off and gesture at the water. “Come on. It’s time.”

Nate grumbles, but he does what I ask. Steps out of his boxers and sinks into the almost-too-hot water. A low groan escapes him, and I sit down by the head of the free-standing tub. I’ve already rolled up and placed a towel there for him to rest his head against.

I’m here to win an argument, after all.

Nate’s eyes meet mine. “You’re still worried about it.”

He knows me too well. I sigh and look down at my hands on my lap. “No. Not really, more that… Well, I destroyed your friendship, didn’t I? It does bother me how Dean spoke to you. I know he was jealous, but you two have been friends since college, and here I am?—”

“Harper,” Nate says. “Let me get this right. You’re feeling guilty about being the reason Dean and I will likely never speak again?”

Spoken so starkly, it feels like a punch to the gut.

I nod.

“Don’t be. Not even a bit. I will never feel bad about losing him as a friend.”

“You won’t?”

“No,” Nate says. “He showed his true colors the other day. Besides, do you think I would want to be friends with him after hearing how he treated you?”

“Then I’m the one who turned you against him,” I say.

Nate rests his head back on the towel and drapes his arms along the porcelain edges of the tub. “No. You just opened my eyes to a relationship I’ve already been feeling shaky about.”

I blink a few times. “You were? Every time I saw you in New York before you moved, and then after… although it was less often… you seemed so happy. Like you liked Dean. I never noticed anything otherwise.”

He closes his eyes, and I notice color seeping into his cheeks. It must be from the rising steam heating the air around us. “I was good at hiding it.”

“Oh,” I say.

“And I’d take having you over being friends with him every day of the week.”

The words slide over my skin, slipping through my limbs. Having me. Happiness unfurls, chasing away the guilt. Is that how he sees it? Does he have me? Do I have him?

We still haven’t defined anything. Haven’t spoken about us. I’m not sure if I can quite yet… but I’m getting there. All I know is, there’s no one I want to spend my time with more than Nate.

“I’m going to wash your hair,” I say instead and reach for the shampoo.

Nate cracks an eyelid open. “You’re going to do what?”

“I promise you’ll like it.” I scoot closer to the tub and run a hand through his hair. “And if you still hate having a bath in thirty minutes, you’ll win this debate forever. Remember?”

“Thirty minutes in this water,” he mutters, but he dips his head obligingly under the surface for me.

“How you suffer for me,” I tease and rest his head back against the edge of the tub.

His hair is a few inches in length, and I start lathering it with shampoo. Use both my hands to massage his scalp.

I’ve never done this for anyone. This whole idea started on a whim, something fun for us to do. But this feels almost meditative.

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