He acts swiftly. I don't even have a chance to move.

We're kissing.

Before I even realize his lips are touching mine, they're gone. And I'm left with only the aftershock, the fire blazing on my skin, sizzling and tingling even though the contact lasted for less than a second and is already gone. I swallow, pulling my trembling fingers from the door, moving in slow motion. The warmth still lingers, mocking me, mocking the feelings I thought I’d gotten rid of a very long time ago.

"Skye," Ollie whispers, voice softer than I've ever heard before. "I'm—"

"I have to go," I interrupt, stepping away, backing up, fleeing to my room. Because I know what he was about to say. I'm sorry. All he ever has for me are apologies that come too little too late. And I don't want to hear them.

"Skye!" he shouts, but I'm already behind the closed door, heaving in air.

"What's going on?" Bridge asks, muffled from the door. My heart sinks. What was he thinking? What was I thinking? Did I know that would happen? With Bridge only ten feet away!

"Nothing," I say back, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just forgot I told Patrick I would come see him tonight. I have to go."

"What did you do?" Bridge asks quietly, but I still hear, and I know exactly who that question is directed to. I stop midway through pulling a pair of jeans on. Ollie takes a moment to answer and I wish I could see his expression, but it's far away, on the other side of the door I felt was necessary to put between us.

"Nothing." He sighs. Denial. Good. But then he adds, "Nothing I regret, anyway."

Well, great.

What the heck does that mean?

"What are you talking about?" Bridge asks, voice as sassy as ever. And really, I want to hug her with gratitude. Go get him!

But I'm too furious to speak.

How dare he kiss me! How dare he, like nothing happened, like it's no big deal, with his sister—my best friend!—in the next room. I mean, the nerve! The sheer arrogance!

I shove my pants on, wincing a little as the zipper pinches my skin, but I'm in lightning speed mode. I need to get out of here. Away from him. Before I punch him in the face, and then Bridge will really know something is going on.

I take a deep breath, letting my hand hover over the knob, and then open the door. Bridge is glaring at Ollie. And Ollie, well he looks confused. His brows are pinched tight with concern, but a smug smile widens his lips. And that just makes the anger raging beneath my skin burn brighter. But I shove it down and smile because there is one thing more important than my fury and that's making sure Bridge remains ignorant of the situation. Because she can never, never know.

"Bridge, honestly, Ollie didn’t do anything. I just realized I'm late to see Patrick. I totally forgot." My voice is surprisingly chipper, deceptively easygoing—something I've never been able to attribute to my words before.

Ollie's eyes darken.

For the first time today, I successfully ignore him, throwing my arms around Bridge's neck and squeezing her for a tight hug. "Thanks for being the best roommate ever. Save me a cookie for when I get home tonight."

She clasps her hands behind my back, returning the embrace. "Will do. Have fun with your hunk of a man. If I had one, I'd be doing the same thing."

I roll my eyes but can't stop the little grin that sprouts, puffing my cheeks. And then I leave, walking out the door without a single look back. As soon as I make my way to the elevator and out the lobby, I can breathe again. I suck in deeply, letting the crisp winter air fill my lungs, liberating me from the stale air of the apartment a few stories above my head. My heartbeat slows to normal, and I feel free for the first time in days.

I don't really know what I want to do or where I want to go. My goal was just to escape, and I have. But I find myself wandering to the pharmacy, grabbing a few little Christmas decorations from the dollar shelf, and then boarding the subway heading uptown.

I've only been to Patrick's apartment once before—he cooked me dinner. But I think I know the way. And a little while later, his charmingly surprised face opens the door, mouth dropping before widening to a swoon-worthy grin. And I might swoon, just a little.

Before he can say anything, I plop a Santa hat on his head and hold up the gingerbread house kit I bought at the store. "Surprise?" I say and shrug.

"Best surprise I've had in a while," he murmurs, grabbing my hand, pulling me inside and against his chest. The heat from his skin is warm, comforting. Not a raging inferno, something more manageable. Something I can handle. And when his lips land on mine, I sink into the kiss instead of running away, because his touch sends a little spark down my spine. Not enough to drive me wild, not enough to make my brain stop functioning, but maybe it's better this way. He's not a storm pulling me under against my will. He's a choice I'm making for myself.

And as we fall onto the couch, lips still locked, my thoughts have a second to wander to another choice I could make. To the clothes packed in my handbag just in case I decide to spend the night. Just in case I decide I'm ready.

So…I wasn't ready. Big shocker! What is wrong with me? I'm twenty-two. It should not be this hard. I ended up staying the night, cuddling against his chest under his surprisingly cozy blankets, waking up to a kiss and a hot cup of coffee. I mean, the boy is perfect. So I say again—what is wrong with me?

"Skylar, any updates?" Victoria asks from across the conference room. We're having our weekly meeting with the Style team, only it got pushed back from the normal time on Tuesday mornings to Thursday afternoon.

I spit the sip of latte I just started to take back into my cup, coughing. And then look down sadly. Ew—backwash. I read somewhere once that the last tenth of any drink you consume is all backwash. I mean, how nasty is that? You end up just drinking your own spit. Disgusting. And yet…I don't think I have the heart to say goodbye to my nutmeg laced coffee just yet.

"Skylar?"

Oh, right. My boss!

"Yes," I say quickly, covering up for the space out. "I just finished a new column, all about date night ideas to spice up the holiday season. On Sunday, I surprised Patrick by showing up with a few lights, candles, and a gingerbread house kit. With romantic lighting and soft Christmas music, any setting can become magical. I ended the piece with a few more ideas, ice-skating or a movie night, things like that. And added a part about how to seal the deal before the night is through, or just bring new heat to a long-term relationship. I think the readers will definitely swoon." I mean, I know I did.

"And it's on my desk?" Victoria asks, scratching down some notes.

"Yup."

"Good. And how about holiday gift guides? What are your ideas?"

I bite my lip, closing my eyes for a moment. When I open, Blythe catches my gaze, smirking. Did I mention I'm meeting Patrick's parents for the first time tonight? Who also happen to be Blythe's parents? And did I also mention that she's been dropping hints all day, you know, about the utter sabotage she is about to lay down?

Well, she is. And guess what? I'm terrified.

I mean, meeting the parents for the first time is always a little nerve-racking. But when you're a sex columnist who's sort of totally embarrassed about being a sex columnist, that little feeling of nerves gets blown up to full-on panic attack pretty quickly. And right now, Blythe is subtly rubbing her wrist—a gentle reminder that the day ends in fifteen minutes and then the two of us will be alone for however long it takes to get to a brownstone on the Upper East Side.