"Because that's where I put it."

His answers spark more questions, ones I don't get to ask. He reaches toward me, pressing his palm flat against my cheek, before his hand drifts down my neck. I tilt my head back, expecting him to keep going, but he pauses like that, his fingertips pressing against the pulse point. "Your heart's racing."

"It usually is around you."

His hand moves lower, his thumb grazing the dip in my throat as I swallow harshly. "Did I scare you?"

"I just said you did."

"That's not what I meant," he says, his eyes leaving mine to look at his hand wrapped around my throat.

Oh. That.

Slowly, I nod when he meets my eyes again.

"Did you like it?"

I hesitate before nodding again.

The corner of his lip twitches as his hand drifts lower, down my chest, before he pulls away. "The car's in the garage because I cleaned it out. Like I said, I couldn't sleep."

"What was there to clean?" I ask. "Your car is always pristine."

"You haven't seen the trunk."

I laugh. "What's in the trunk?"

"Nothing now."

He takes a step toward me, wrapping an arm around me, as he kisses the top of my head. "I have work to do. You should go upstairs."

He starts to walk away, but I catch his arm to stop him, not wanting to go upstairs without him. He stalls, glancing down at where I'm touching him. My eyes drift that way, and I tense, seeing the claw marks on his arm. "Did I do that to you?"

He doesn't respond, merely leaning toward me, pressing a soft kiss on my lips before pulling from my grasp. "Go get some sleep, Karissa. I'll be up in a bit."

Naz walks out of the room, leaving me standing there alone as he heads for a door beyond the kitchen, one that leads into the garage, I gather, when I hear the engine of the Mercedes roar to life seconds later. Sighing, I turn away and go back upstairs, not bothering to take off his shirt when I climb back into bed.

Naz is awake before me the next morning… if he even slept at all.

When I climb out of bed and venture downstairs, he's already showered and dressed, standing in the kitchen washing dishes.

It's a peculiar sight, one that makes me pause to appreciate.

His jacket lies on the counter behind him, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his hands submerged in the hot, soapy suds. He scrubs a glass with an intensity that is almost unparalleled, like someone ridding a brick wall of graffiti.

I'm surprised it doesn't shatter in his hands.

The smell of chemicals clings to the kitchen, a strange mixture of bleach and noxious lemon. The floor glistens, everything within eyesight scoured.

I haven't ventured any further in the house, but something tells me the other rooms are just as spotless.

Seeing how Naz doesn't do much cooking, he doesn't have many dishes to wash. He finishes up the glasses before moving on to a knife, washing it so hard with a rag I worry he's going to cut himself. He tosses them all into a dishwasher when he finishes, turning it on to wash them yet again, before turning to me. "Good afternoon."

My expression falls. "Afternoon?"

"Yes," he says, glancing on the counter beside him at where his watch lay. "It's a quarter after twelve."

My eyes widen. "I need to hurry or I'm going to miss my bus!"

"Your bus?"

"My bus home! You know, for Easter? I told you I was going home for the weekend. I'm supposed to catch the bus at 1:30."

He pulls the plug on the water in the sink as he turns to me. "I forgot or I would've woken you."

"I should've reminded you," I say, frowning. It slipped my mind last night to ask him to make sure I was awake.

"I can just drive you," he says as he grabs a towel to dry his hands. "No need to worry about any bus."

"That's crazy," I say, shaking my head. "It would take you all day to get there and back."

"It's only four hours to Syracuse."

"We don't live in Syracuse," I say. "We live about an hour outside of it."

"Not a problem," he says.

"But I just… I can't ask you to do that," I say. "And my mother, she wouldn't like it. She doesn't really like being around people, and I haven't exactly told her… I mean, she doesn't know…"

"She doesn't know you're seeing someone," he guesses, fixing his sleeves.

"Yes," I say. "I'm going to tell her, I am. It's just that…"

"She won't understand," he guesses again.

"Yes," I say. "I appreciate the offer, though. Really. And I'll tell her, but just not right now. If I get back to the city soon, I can make it to the bus."

He grabs his coat and slips it on, fixing the collar. "Get dressed, then, and I'll get you there."

Just as he says, he gets me back to Manhattan on time, even having a spare minute to grab a coffee on the way through. I kiss him, offering a timid smile before kissing him again.

And again.

And again.

"I'll miss you this weekend," I admit, whispering the words against his lips.

"I'll be here when you get back," he says. "Go, before you miss your chance."

I kiss him once more before begrudgingly climbing out of the car, watching as he drives away, heaviness in my chest that I can't explain.