“True.” I bite back a fond smile. “I could help, you know. Remind you to—”

“No,” he cuts in, soft but vehement. “I don’t want that from you, Button. I don’t want you to see me that way. As someone who needs minding. Someone to fix.”

“I do not see you that way,” I retort.

This time, it’s John who soothes, rubbing slow circles on my hip. “I know, love. But there are some things I need to learn to do on my own. Please.”

All the fight leaves me. He’s right, and pride is a powerful thing. Sometimes, it’s all you have left. I can only do as he asks. “All right. But please promise me that you’ll call Dr. Allen.”

There’s a small smile in his voice when he answers, “I will.”

He nudges my hand with the crown of his head. Subtle, he is not. But since I love playing with his silky hair, I happily take up running my fingers through the strands once more.

When he speaks, his voice is a ghost of sound. “Killian was so pissed at me. When I tried. I mean, I get it—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in sharper than I intend, “but Killian can go fuck himself.”

John’s shoulders jerk. “Jesus, Stells,” he says with a husky laugh, “don’t hold back.”

“I know he’s your friend. But I’m serious. He can fuck right off with that.”

I feel him smile against me as his grip tightens. “It scared him, Button. Scared them all. It changed all of us in a way I didn’t think about. We were like spoiled children before that. Then suddenly, life got too real.”

I can practically feel the weight of that change sitting on John’s shoulders. I press my lips to the top of his head. “When I was five, I ran out into traffic and almost got hit by a car. The second my mom got to me, she slapped me on the butt and screamed at me for being careless. She’d been scared to death and her reaction was to lash out.” My fingers trail through John’s hair. “And I get that’s why your friends acted the way they did. But the initial scare is long over, John, and yet it still bugs you. You’re still trying to protect their feelings.”

John sighs. “Shit. I know. Can’t seem to help doing that.”

“Because you’re a fixer.”

“Hardly.”

“You are,” I insist softly. “You smooth things over, try to make people feel better. Just because you do it with a load of snark doesn’t make it less true.”

Affection warms his voice. “Just like you.”

We are alike in that way. I hadn’t thought it when I first met him, but I see it now. Our approaches are different but the intent is the same.

My eyes are drifting closed when he speaks again.

“You smell nice.” John’s observation wakes me up.

“Okay.”

“What’s with the tone?” he asks, clearly amused.

I shrug. “Smelling nice should be a given. Because the opposite would be that I smell bad—”

“Which would be a problem,” he adds solemnly.

I nudge his shoulder. “It’s like me saying, hey, John, look at you being all clean.”

He laughs and he rises. His nose skims my jaw, causing happy shivers to break out over my skin. “Stella Button, you think too much.”

I can’t help running my hand down his waist. He’s warm and solid. “Better than thinking too little, isn’t it?”

His answering hum vibrates between us, then he shifts, tucking his cheek into the crook of my neck. “Let me elaborate on my previous statement. You always smell nice. But there’s this scent I can’t place …” He breathes deep, then lets it out slowly, heating my skin. “It’s sweet and clean but soothing and kind of spicy. It’s in your hair and on your skin.” A big hand trails down my arm, John’s calluses rough, but his touch tender. “I love this scent. And it drives me insane because I don’t know what it is.”

Ye gods, the way he touches me. It’s gentle affection, but I’m burning up.

I clear my throat but my voice sounds too thin when I finally answer. “Your elaboration is definitely better than your initial comment.”

John hums again, his lips brushing my collarbone. “You going to tell me what it is?”

I honestly have no idea; I wasn’t aware I had a particular scent. And his lips lightly tickling my neck distracting me. “Uh … my shampoo?”

He gives me another tiny kiss, a little tease of a touch. “Nope,” he murmurs in a low, drugging voice. “It’s in Killian’s apartment too.” His lips press against the underside of my jaw. “Like you’ve fully inhabited every inch of the place.”

God, it feels too good the way he’s exploring me with those small kisses, as if he can’t really help himself. I can’t either. My hand slowly runs up and down his trim waist. I struggle to keep track of the conversation, and then it hits me. “Oh,” I say, in a burst. “It’s lavender.”

John pauses for a second. “I hate lavender.”

“Wait. You hate the way I smell? Stop talking in circles.”

He sighs. “You’re trying to pick a fight, aren’t you?” He nips my side with his fingers. “We’ll talk about why in a minute.”

I glare down at his head, not that he sees me. He’s too busy fiddling with my shirt, running a finger along a fold in the fabric.

His voice stays low. “I’m pretty sure you heard me earlier when I said you smell nice. So it can’t be lavender. I fucking hate lavender. Had this assistant once—June. She loved that crap. Thought it was calming and put all these lavender oil sticks everywhere. Gave me the worst headaches.”

I can’t help but smile. “There’s a huge difference between cheap essential oils and the actual plant. I have potted lavender on the terrace, in my bedroom, and in the living room. Use bundles of it to keep my clothes smelling fresh.”

He breathes in deep and then lets it out slowly. Pleasure shivers through me, my skin prickling.

Kiss me. Let me taste you. I need it. The words stick in my throat. I’m nearly vibrating with want, and he feels it. He has to, because he tenses. For a hot second, I expect him to raise his head and find my mouth with his. But he doesn’t move. Instead, he clears his throat.

“Thank you for coming to find me,” he says.

I lie there, slick and burning, not sure what to do with the formality of his tone or the fact that he’s stopped exploring me. “Of course,” I say, staring at his bent head, and the way it makes him appear defeated. Whatever is bothering him still weighs him down. “You want to tell me what set you off?”

The muscles along his neck and shoulder go rock hard. Though he doesn’t move, I can feel every inch of him withdraw, as if a massive wall has slid between us. “It wasn’t any one thing. It just happened.”

He’s lying. I don’t know how I know, I just do. But I can’t force trust. I can only support. “You know what I think we should do?”

John shifts against me, sending a delicious tremor into my lower belly that I studiously ignore.

“What should we do, Button?” His teasing tone is back, but he’s easing away. So much for sex. Maybe all he really needed was a bit of physical comfort. Despite now being horny as all hell, I don’t begrudge him that. Comforting people is my wheelhouse, and I’m more than happy to give that to John.