“I can’t help but wonder if I could get away with stabbing her cold, cold heart with an ice pick.For that, I might win the Nobel Peace Prize. Or, bare minimum, a call from the Vatican, thanking me.”

“Are you cold?” he asks, turning toward me to run the backs of his fingers up and down my upper arm, as if testing the temperature of my skin. “Here,” he says, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and heavy and smells just like Nash, like whatever cologne or soap he uses. I figure it must be called delicious, maybe by Armani or some other fancy designer. It almost makes my mouth water. “Is that better?” He wraps his arm around me, too, as if to ensure I won’t be cold. Of course, I won’t complain. Even if I was sweating, I wouldn’t complain.“That’s much better, thank you.”

“Look, Olivia, I care about you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it? I might not have always done the right thing, but try to see it from my perspective. Do you know how hard it was for me to tell you all this? Knowing that you might leave and never come back? I was just hoping that you wouldn’t do that. Leave. But you did. And I know I should let you go. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Then why are you flirting with me?”“I can’t seem to help myself.” -Nash”

“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done this weekend.”“Oh believe me, it was my pleasure.”

“Thanks, Gav. I can always count on you to say things that help me in no way whatsoever.”

“I can’t stop thinking about doing this to you,” he whispers, so quietly I can barely hear him. “Tell me to stop now if you don’t want this. If you don’t want me.”