I Texted His Roommate

Check out the simp.

Grant forwarded our entire chat historywhere I chased him relentlesslyto his boys' group chat.

The group roasted me alive.

So, I added the guy who roasted me the hardest.

Later, at a party, Grant tried to pull the same stunt, setting me up for public humiliation.

But that brother stepped right in front of me, shielding me from the view.

Grants face went dark. "Whats your problem?"

Chapter 1

Valentines Day afternoon. The dorm room was a war zone of hairspray, discarded outfits, and hormonal anticipation.

Everyone was prepping for dates.

Everyone except me. I sat there hugging a half-eaten bag of stale chips, scrolling through Netflix on my tablet.

Dakota had already tried on her nth outfit and hated them all. She shuffled over to my closet.

"Holly, this dress is insane."

She pulled out the merlot-colored bodycon mini. The cut was designed to tease. Id bought it a month ago, specifically for tonight. For the dinner Grant and I were supposed to have.

Dakota turned to me. "No one asked you out tonight?"

When I didnt answer, the corner of her mouth quirked up. "Grants ghosting you again?"

The name dropped like a bomb. The rest of the room went silent, eyes darting toward me.

Grant was always the center of gravity. Good-looking, top of the class. Life was just a game on easy mode for him.

Feelings were no exception.

When you grow up being worshipped, you dont lack for admirers. And me? I was just the neighbor who happened to go to the same schools from kindergarten to college.

I had the "girl next door" script, but I was stuck in the friend zone.

I pulled out my phone. The pinned chat at the top was dead silent. No red notification bubble.

If I didnt reach out, he wouldnt. That was the rule.

By 9:30 PM, Id binged an entire series. The dorm was empty.

I noticed a smudge of foundation on the cuff of the merlot dress Dakota had tried on. I crouched down, scrubbing at it carefully. It wouldnt come out.

What was the point, anyway?

Just as the thought settled, my phone buzzed.

A string of digits flashed on the screen. Unsaved, but I recognized the pattern instantly. I didnt save his number because I didnt want to seem obsessed. But my brain had burned it into memory years ago.

"Hello?"

I picked nervously at a loose thread on a hanger, trying to ground myself.

He chuckled first. He heard the wobble in my voicethe suppressed grievanceand slipped into that coaxing tone he used when he wanted something. "Wanna come out and play?"

The upward inflection at the end of the sentence was a hook. Pure, lazy charm.

So he remembered.

"Its nine-thirty," I said.

"So?"

"Do you always make plans this last minute? Grant, thats rude." I tried to keep it light, forcing a joke. "Did someone else cancel on you, so now youre calling me?"

My tone was breezy, but my grip on the phone was white-knuckled. I waited for his reaction.

Silence.

The line went dead quiet.

I thought the signal dropped. I was about to switch to data when I realizedhe hung up on me.

I checked the chat. Below the walls of blue text Id sent him previously, two new gray bubbles appeared.

Grant:

Grant: Whatever. Not forcing you.

My thumbs flew to the keyboard. Instinct took over. I started typing, I was just kidding, trying to salvage it.

But my fingers froze over his two dismissive lines.

I waited all night. He hung up in seconds.

I backspaced everything. Deleted the apology.

Typed: Are you mad?

Sent.

He replied instantly: Can't tell?

He wanted me to fold. To apologize. To lower my head like I always did.

I matched his speed: Stay mad then.

Block.

I tossed the phone and opened a vocabulary app.

Men? Trash.

I was going to memorize a hundred words. Watch me.

Two hours later. Just as I was finishing my streak, Grant called.

"Hungry?"

"No." My voice was ice.

"Come downstairs. I brought you food."

I moved to the window. Sure enough, his black Range Rover was parked in front of the dorm.

He was leaning against the door, wearing a sharp, oversized wool overcoat that made his pale skin look porcelain under the streetlights. He looked up, caught my eye in the window, and smirked. He lifted a takeout container.

Clam chowder.

The same kind I bought him when he was sick with a fever.

I threw a hoodie over my dress and walked down the stairs, passing two girls coming back from their dates.

"Isn't that Grant from the Med School?"

"Who?"

"The hot guy by the door. I saw a video of him on TikTok the other day."

I pushed open the dorm building door. I reached out, intending to just grab the bag and go.

He held onto the bag with his fingertips. He wouldn't let go.

"Phone," he demanded, holding out his other hand.

"No."

I let go of the food and turned to walk back inside.

He grabbed my wrist, spinning me back. Before I could react, he dipped into my pocket and fished out my phone.

"Hey! Give it back, you don't know the pass"

Click.

Unlock successful.

"Is there anything about you I don't know?"

His grin deepened. He steadied me with one hand and tapped through the screen with the other. He found his contact in the blocked list and removed it.

Easy to find, since he was pinned. Easy to unlock, since the password was his birthday.

He knew. He knew everything.

"Here. Eat, then sleep." He pressed the warm bag into my arms. "I feel like a zookeeper feeding a pig."

I looked up, locking eyes with him. "Grant"

"Grant."

A voice echoed mine. I looked past him. Dakota was sitting in the passenger seat of his car. She pushed the door open, her cheeks flushed. "Did I fall asleep? You didn't wake me."

Grant let go of my wrist. He smiled at her, his voice softening. "You were out cold. Thought I'd let you rest."

"The club went to an escape room today, I didn't know Grant was coming." Dakota walked over, linking her arm through mine. "He was just dropping me off since its on the way."

She pointed at the chowder in my hand, her tone dripping with playful complaint. "It's all that chowder's fault. It was so good, I went into a food coma on the ride back."

He took Dakota out to eat, and I got the leftovers? The doggy bag?

"Dakota's stomach was acting up, so I took her to get something warm," Grant explained, catching the look on my face.

"Right." I forced a smile. "Thanks. I'm going up."

"Holly, wait."

Dakota grabbed my elbow, anchoring me in place. She turned her attention to Grant. "Can I get your number? I need to Venmo you for tonight."

I followed her gaze to Grant. The plastic handles of the bag were cutting off the circulation in my fingers, leaving a red welt.

He shrugged, offering a casual smile. "Sure."

But right before he said it, his eyes flicked to me.

Dakota finally let go of my arm to type in his number.

A sudden sense of release washed over me. The heavy feeling in my chest snapped.

"You guys take your time," I said.

I turned around and walked up the stairs without looking back.

Chapter 2

Dakota yanked my privacy curtain back. "Holly, youre not mad, right?"

She didnt wait for an answer. "I mean, technically, you guys aren't even a thing."

She was right. I had no claim.

"Do you like Grant?" I cut straight to the chase.

"What?" Her eyes darted away. "No. It was just a ride. Convenient."

"Why aren't you eating the chowder?"

She pointed a manicured nail at the cold plastic container sitting on my desk. Her tone dripped with passive-aggressive sweetness. "We went out of our way to get that for you."

"Not hungry."

I reached to pull the curtain back shut, to seal myself off.

Dakota grabbed the fabric. "Holly, you know about Grants group chat, right? The one with the boys?"

My hand froze.

I didn't know.

"Tanner is in it, too." Dakota shoved her phone screen in my face. "He sent me this screenshot a few days ago."

It was a chat log. I recognized Grants profile picture instantly.

The timestamp dated back to last week. When he had a fever, and I spent seven days playing nursemaid.

Then, I caught his flu. A bad strain. My bones felt like they were being ground into dust. I couldnt even climb down from my bunk. I had texted him, begging him to just bring me some soup.

He never replied.

Instead, he forwarded our private texts to the boys' group chat. The screen was filled with my blue bubbles. My concern. My desperation.

Grant: Check out the simp.

Grant: Shes obsessed. Its getting annoying.

Grant: Does she actually think shes my girlfriend?

The boys tore me apart.

Tanner: Lol. What number is she this week?

NotADog: That is painful to watch. Desperate much?

NotADog: You two are a mismatch.

NotADog: Does she not own a mirror? Is she even in your league?

NotADog: Shes banking on the "childhood friend" card to force you into a relationship. Got a pic? Lets see the damage.

Tanner posted a photo. It was blurry, taken from a distance, but the silhouette was undeniably me.

NotADog: Mid. Looks like a manipulator.

NotADog: Hard pass. Wouldn't touch that.

Grant: @Tanner Where did you get that? Delete it.

Tanner: Taken at the club fair. Forgot I had it.

Grant: Unsend.

Tanner: Too late. Why, you care?

The screenshot ended there.

"He really doesn't like you, Holly," Dakota said, pulling her phone back. "Take a hint. For your own dignity."

My blood ran cold, then hot.

"Who is 'NotADog'?" I asked.

The pivot threw her off. "Him? Thats Grants roommate. Nash."

"Do you have his contact?"

"Yeah" She frowned. "Why do you want Nashs info?"

Midnight.

The dorm was silent, save for the occasional rustle of sheets.

I unlocked my phone. Changed the wallpaper. Unpinned Grant from the top of my messages.

Then, I added Nash.

NotADog: Who is this?

Holly: Holly.

NotADog: ?

NotADog: Why are you adding me?

NotADog: This about Grant?

NotADog: I'm not helping you stalk him.

Holly: No.

NotADog: Then what? Delete me.

Holly: Nash, has anyone ever told you that you're special?

NotADog: No.

Holly: To me, you're different from everyone else.

NotADog: Lady, what is your deal? Spit it out.

Holly: I've spent years getting close to Grant. But I only had one real goal.

NotADog: To date him?

Holly: To sleep with you.

The chat went dead.

It stayed dead for minutes. The status indicator flickered wildly between Typing and blank. He was malfunctioning.

Just as I was about to give up and sleep, my phone buzzed again.

But it wasn't Nash.

It was Grant.

Grant: Cover for me at 8 AM lecture. Sign the attendance sheet. Room 801.

He barked orders like he owned me. Like he was certain I would always be his pathetic little shadow.

Chapter 3

We had the same 8 AM elective.

Well, technically, Dakota only took the class because Grant did. When I was fighting for a spot during registration, she hovered over my shoulder, watching like a hawk to make sure I secured a seat for her, too.

"Holly, did you actually chat with Nash last night?"

She scanned my face, looking for cracks.

"Too bad his profile is blank. No selfies. Usually, guys who don't post are trolls or just ugly. He probably looks like" She waved a hand vaguely at a random, disheveled guy in the front row. Then she smirked. "Actually, hed probably be a good match for you."

"Excuse me. Can you scoot over?"

A deep, gravelly voice cut through her insults.

Dakota looked up, annoyed. Then her jaw went slack.

The guy standing over us was massive. He took up all the oxygen in the aisle. Sharp, aggressive eyebrows, a jawline that could cut glass, and an aura that screamed Do Not Approach.

There were plenty of empty seats. But Dakota practically leaped to clear a space next to her. She leaned across me, putting on her best voice.

"Hey. Are you in this class, too?"

"Yeah."

He didn't look at her. His cold, dark eyes were fixed on me.

"I'm Dakota. What's your name?" she chirped.

"The ugly one," he deadpanned. "Nash."

Dakotas smile died. She shrank back like shed touched a hot stove. In under ten seconds, she packed her bag and scrambled five rows forward, fleeing the blast zone.

"Pleasure, Holly."

Nash dropped his textbook onto the narrow desk. It landed with a heavy thud, pressing right against my notebook.

He arched a brow, looking ready for a fight. "What exactly did you say you wanted to do to me last night?"

I smiled, calm as a bomb tech, and slid my notebook away to create a demilitarized zone.

He mirrored the smile, but his was mocking. "I knew it. You're just using me to get to Grant."

"Not true."

"You think you're worthy?" His gaze raked over me, dripping with disdain. "Grant doesn't go for girls whose entire personality is 'desperate'."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a warning growl. "Besides, I have standards. Your cheap little mind games? They won't work on me."

"Is that so?" I challenged.

The attendance sheet slid onto my desk.

I skipped over Grant's name. I signed my name.

I passed the paper to Nash. My finger brushed against the back of his hand.

Jolt.

He recoiled like Id branded him with a hot iron. His entire body went rigid, radiating the intense, terrifying virgin energy of a man who had never held a girl's hand.

"You" He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Why didn't you sign for Grant?"

He sounded offended on Grants behalf. Like the guardian of Grants morality.

Too bad. I was dragging him into the mud with me.

"Because you're here now," I whispered, beaming at him.

He looked away, his neck flushing a violent shade of red. He stared aggressively at the whiteboard.

"Here. Borrow my pen." I offered it.

He snatched it, scribbling a signature for Grant with shaky hands.

"Your name isn't on the list," I noted, tilting my head to catch his eye. "So, you came here just to see me?"

"I came to warn you!" he hissed, establishing a hard boundary.

"Okay." I held out my palm. "Can I have my pen back?"

He dropped it into my hand like it was radioactive.

I cradled the cheap plastic pen in my palms, treating it like a holy relic.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"This is the first pen we've ever shared," I said, my voice dripping with sincerity. "I'm going to treasure it forever."

The bell rang. Nash bolted. He didn't even look back.

I dropped the smile instantly.

I packed my bag in slow motion. On my way out, I stopped by the podium.

"Excuse me, Professor Tate?" I handed him the pen. "You can keep this. I have plenty."

I leaned against the brick wall outside the lecture hall and pulled out my phone.

I switched accounts.

Logged into my alt: DogTrainer.

Profile: Male. Bio: Blank.

I searched for Nashs ID and hit add.

NotADog: Who is this?

He was on high alert now.

DogTrainer: Lecture Hall 801. 8 AM. I got a photo of you holding hands with Holly during class.

NotADog: ?

NotADog: We touched for one second!

NotADog: No. It wasn't on purpose. She did it on purpose. Wait, no. I mean I didn't mean to.

Silence stretched for two minutes.

NotADog: How much to delete it?

A notification popped up.

Nash sent you $200.00.

I didn't accept it.

DogTrainer: You and Grant have a group chat?

NotADog: How do you know that?

DogTrainer: Add me.

NotADog: That's for the boys only. Why do you want in?

DogTrainer: I have a crush on Grant.

I typed the lie without blinking.

NotADog: Aren't you a dude?

DogTrainer: You got a problem with that?

You have been added to "The Boys ??"

Nash slid into my DMs immediately.

NotADog: Delete the photo.

NotADog: I would die before I held her hand.

I didn't reply. I switched back to my main account.

Grants name popped up instantly.

Grant: Did you sign for me?

Grant: We're going camping this weekend. You coming?

Before I could type a response, a text from Dakota slid in.

Dakota: Grant just invited me camping! Should I say yes?

Classic Grant.

Secure the main option, then secure the backup. I was always the safety net. The plan B he knew would never say no.

But this time?

I was going to make him taste his own medicine.

Chapter 4

The weekend camping trip brought out Grants entire entourage.

I reached for the door handle of Grants Range Rover, but Dakota was faster. She slid into the passenger seat, flashing me a pitiful look.

"Sorry, Holly! I get super car sick if Im not riding shotgun. You understand, right?"

The back seat was already packed with guys.

Grant leaned against the hood, keys swinging from his finger. "Why don't you ride with Nash?"

"Yeah, great idea," Dakota chimed in, winking at me. "You guys can bond. Since you were sliding into his DMs last night."

"You messaged him?"

Grants head snapped up. He caught the keyword instantly.

From the back seat, Tanner laughed. "Damn, moving on to a new target already?"

Grants expression flickered. A shadow crossed his face, there for a second, then gone.

He recovered his mask of effortless indifference. He shouted over to the black SUV parked nearby. "Yo, Nash! Shes your problem now."

He slammed Dakotas door shut, sealing her in and me out.

"Just being a good wingman," he muttered to me, his voice low.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and physically shoved me toward Nashs car.

I stumbled a step, looking at Nash. He was loading gear into his trunk.

"Pass," Nash said, his voice cutting through the air. "I don't drive random girls."

He didn't give me an inch.

The group erupted in laughter. I stood there in the gravel lot, the unwanted baggage that neither driver wanted to claim.

Dakota laughed the hardest, her voice shrill through the open window.

"What's funny?" Nash shot a glare at her. "You aren't allowed in my car either."

Dakotas smile vanished. "Excuse me? Who said I wanted to ride with you?"

"I saw how fast you threw yourself at that passenger seat," Nash drawled. "Desperate."

Tanner stepped out of Grants back seat to save the mood from imploding. "Okay, okay, chill out. Holly, take my spot back here. I'll ride with Nash."

We hit the highway.

In the front, Dakota and Grant were in their own world, laughing and flirting.

My phone buzzed. The group chat"The Boys ??"was lighting up.

Tanner: Grant, quit bullying the poor girl. You know she likes your type, not Nash's.

Tanner: Why are you trying to set her up with the Ice King?

They were polar opposites. Grant was the player, the golden boy who loved the chase. Nash was the lone wolf, blunt and antisocial.

Nobody in their right mind would ship me and Nash.

I switched accounts.

DogTrainer: Holly and Nash are endgame.

NotADog: ?

Tanner: Who the hell is this? When did they get in?

DogTrainer has been removed from the group by NotADog.

A DM popped up instantly on my alt account.

NotADog: Say that again. I dare you.

DogTrainer: I have a picture of you two holding hands.

I looked out the window at the black SUV cruising in the next lane.

Through the glass, I could see Nash gripping the steering wheel. His profile was sharp, cold, and unbothered. The wind messed up the hair on his forehead, but didn't soften the glare in his eyes.

He looked like he wanted to kill someone.

Youd never guess that inside our private chat, he was sending me stickers of a cartoon dog begging on its knees.

NotADog: Bro. My brother in Christ. We all make mistakes.

NotADog: Don't do this to me.

NotADog has invited DogTrainer to the group.

NotADog: It's nobody. Just some dude.

NotADog: He likes stirring the pot between me and Grant.

Tanner: Matching names? Sus.

Tanner: Whatever. Nobody believes that "endgame" trash anyway.

Tanner: Holly wouldn't date you even if she was obsessed with Dakota.

NotADog:

We pulled into a rest stop.

Grant came out of the convenience store with a plastic bag. He slid into the driver's seat and tossed a bag of chips to Dakota.

"Aww, thanks Grant!"

She dug through the bag and pulled out a bottle of mango smoothie.

"That's for Holly."

Grant snatched the bottle from her hand. The movement was fluid, practiced. He reached back and shoved it into my hands.

"She only drinks this flavor."

Dakota froze. Her smile turned brittle. "Right. I was just about to pass it back to her."

She shot a glare at me in the rearview mirror, then poked Grants arm playfully. "Grant, look at the group chat. Nash added some comedian. Its hilarious."

Grant raised an eyebrow. He unlocked his phone, scrolling quickly. He chuckled, dismissing it as nonsense.

As the engine roared to life, Dakota turned halfway around in her seat. She lowered her voice, feigning sympathy. "It's such a shame you aren't in the group chat, Holly. You have no idea what we're laughing at."

Chapter 5

The campfire crackled, spitting sparks into the night air.

Dakota sat glued to Grants side, opening her mouth like a baby bird while he hand-fed her BBQ skewers.

I finished grilling a handful of shrimp. I was the last one to sit down. I took the empty spot across from Grant. Right next to Nash.

My jeans barely grazed the log before the person next to me scrambled up.

"Tanner, switch seats with me," Nash demanded.

He wouldn't even look at me.

"What? I just got comfortable." Tanner didn't budge. "Why? She got the plague or something?"

All eyes swung to me.

"No plague here." I turned, holding out a skewer of grilled shrimp to Nash. "Unless you have a guilty conscience?"

His jaw muscle feathered. He sat back down, stiff as a board, and took the shrimp. "You're the one who should feel guilty," he muttered.

Across the fire, Grants gaze flicked to the shrimp in Nashs hand. Then he looked away.

The conversation flowed into gossip.

Then, someone dropped the bomb. "Honestly, pick-me girls are the worst. Its like theyre addicted to being simps."

The speaker didn't mean anything by it, but the silence that followed was loud.

Heads turned toward me.

Dakota giggled, steering the bus right over me. She looked at Grant. "You hate that type of person too, right Grant?"

Grant looked up. His eyes drilled into the six inches of space between Nash and me.

"Yeah. It's annoying."

He swirled his drink, his voice flat and bored. "Especially when the tactics are so low-level. Like using another guy to trigger my competitive streak? Its unoriginal."

He stripped me naked in front of everyone.

He saw right through my plan. He called it out. He made me the punchline.

Smirks rippled around the circle. Whispers started.

Dakota beamed, twisting the knife. "Aww, thats kind of pathetic, actually."

Here it was again.

That feeling of standing alone in a crowded room while the walls closed in.

Grant always did this. Hed shove me into the mud, wait until I was suffocating, and then casually offer a hand.

A slap in the face, followed by a piece of candy.

Right on cue, he stood up. He walked over and held out a skewer of cornmy favorite. "Eat up, you unoriginal idiot."

But the corn never reached me.

A hand shot out and intercepted Grants wrist.

Nash shoved Grants arm away from my face.

"It's not done," Nash said.

Grants hand froze in mid-air.

"Grant," Nash said, his voice cutting through the crackling fire. "Did you ever think that maybe you are the 'other guy'?"

Grants face darkened. "What does that mean?"

Nash didn't look at me. He kept his arm barred between Grant and me like a steel gate. "Maybe she's plotting to get close to you just to get to someone in your circle."

Grant laughed. He walked back to Dakota and tossed the corn onto a dirty tray like garbage. "She wishes."

A fresh batch of food arrived. The crowd moved on. They started chanting for Grant and Dakota to kiss.

The noise blurred into static.

I finished a plate of BBQ ribs. Then, something inside me snapped.

"Remember when we had chowder?" Dakotas voice drifted over. "You said the stars here were beautiful."

Grant smirked, noncommittal. He toyed with a skewer, looking bored.

Tanner nudged him. "So you guys have been on secret dates before?"

I didn't hear the answer.

A serrated blade twisted deep in my lower abdomen.

Gravity seemed to double. A cold, heavy weight dropped in my pelvis.

My period. It was early.

The pain wasn't a dull ache; it was a violent contraction that wrung my insides like a wet towel.

Involuntary tears filled my eyes instantly.

Nash glanced at me.

I bit my lip, burying my face in my knees to hide the grimace.

I had to get to a bathroom.

Over by the fire, the crowd was pressuring Grant to describe his first love. Every detail he listed pointed to Dakota.

And every detail was the opposite of me.

While they cheered, I slipped into the shadows. I stumbled toward the corner tent and started frantically digging through my backpack.

A shadow fell over me.

A massive figure blocked the tent entrance, trapping me in the small space.

"Stop crying. I take it back."

I turned around. My face was wet, my expression blank with shock and pain.

Nash paused. "You're actually crying."

He stepped closer, his voice awkward and rough. "Don't be sad. It's not that you're bad. You and Grant just don't fit."

He cleared his throat, looking at the tent ceiling. "Just find someone else to like."

I blinked, trying to focus on his face through the waves of cramps.

"What are you staring at?" His ears turned a bright crimson.

"You're really hot," I whispered. Truth serum brought on by pain.

In the dim light, the sharp angles of his face softened.

He sputtered. "Be serious!"

"I'm not crying over him," I groaned, wiping my face. "I got my period. I don't have any pads."

His face went from red to nuclear in a second. He clearly wasn't expecting biological realism.

"So what do we do?" He looked panicked. Helpless.

"Can you drive me down the mountain to buy some?"

It wasn't a long drive. Thirty minutes, round trip.

Chapter 6

"I don't drive strangers."

I rested my hand on the pristine door of his SUV. The metal was cold against my palm. I looked up at him and smiled. "Good thing we aren't strangers anymore."

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He flinched, turning his head sharply to avoid my eyes.

"You played me," Nash said. His voice was low, vibrating with suppressed anger. "It was always Grant. The whole time."

"Yes."

"Why drag me into this?"

"Because I saw the group chat."

He froze. His gaze flicked to me in the rearview mirror, guarded.

"I saw the logs, Nash. You called me desperate. You said I was punching up. You said I should check a mirror."

I kept my voice flat, surgical.

"You were right. About all of it."

I turned my body toward him. "But tell me something. Since when does loving someone honestly make me a joke? Does mocking my feelings make you feel superior? Does it make you feel like a big man?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn't answer.

The silence inside the car was heavier than the darkness outside.

The mountain air was biting.

He drove fast, taking the curves with precision until we hit a small convenience store at the base of the mountain.

I ran in. Bought a pack of pads. Used the bathroom.

The mountain night was pitch black, stretching out like spilled ink.

I took a while. When I pushed the door open, Nash was there.

He was leaning against the peeling paint of the exterior wall, blocking the wind. Blocking the only exit path.

Under the flickering yellow bug light, his black wool coat blended into the shadows. His eyes were cold, but there was zero impatience in them.

"It's isolated out here," he muttered, pushing off the wall. "Didn't want you getting snatched."

He stood there feeding the mosquitoes just to guard the door.

Back in the car.

He blasted the heat.

But my uterus was staging a coup. The cramps were twisting knives deep in my gut. Cold sweat pricked my hairline.

Nash opened the center console. He tossed a bottle of painkillers into my lap.

"You keep a pharmacy in here?" I asked, struggling with the cap.

"Habit."

As he snapped the console shut, I saw it.

Tucked behind the painkillers and charging cables.

A bottle of prescription sleep aids. Strong ones. The kind you don't get for a mild toss-and-turn.

I popped the foil on the painkiller. Swallowed it dry.

"Holly."

It was the first time hed said my name without a sneer.

I turned my head. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

The dashboard lights cast a soft, artificial glow on his sharp features, softening the edges. Guilt flashed in his eyes.

"I listened to Grant. I let his stories paint the picture before I even met you. I labeled you."

He gripped the wheel. "You aren't desperate. You aren't 'unworthy' of anyone. I was the one who was blind. I was the asshole."

We drove back up the winding road to the campsite parking lot.

He killed the engine and clicked on a flashlight, walking behind me to light the path.

A gust of wind cut through the trees. I shuddered violently.

A weight settled on my shoulders. Warm. Heavy.

His wool coat.

"It's a loan," he grumbled, his voice rough. "Don't get used to it."

The fabric was high-quality wool. It smelled like cedar and clean laundry. I couldn't help itI rubbed the hem between my thumb and finger.

"Quit touching it," he warned.

I looked back at him. I rubbed the fabric again, deliberately.

He grabbed my hand. "Do you just enjoy provoking people?"

I looked down at his hand gripping mine. His palm was calloused, burning hot against my cold skin. "I thought you said you'd die before holding my hand?"

"How do you kn"

I flipped my grip, interlacing my fingers with his.

Lock.

His fingers were long. Perfect.

Nash short-circuited.

He ripped his hand away like Id shocked him with a taser