Author's Note: I love your favorites and comments. Keep 'em coming! Thank you, Kyrie Anne, for you beta work. You keep my characterizations sharp and my story on track. I hope the 4th and (I think) final chapter will be up by the end of next week.

"We can check in and get cleaned up for a few minutes while I call Harris—the P.I.," Darcy says, leading Lizzie into the lobby of the hotel he's picked out for the night. She clutches the handle of her overnight bag and nods, taking in her surroundings.

The upscale hotel is a far cry from the usual cheap motels she stays at when she goes on road trips with family or friends. Instead of cheap carpets, vinyl counter tops and threadbare furniture, the lobby of this hotel features stone-tiled floors, a soaring vaulted ceiling, a small jungle of real plants and a bevy of uniformed staff. She has a sinking feeling that this place is far out of her price range.

She tugs at Darcy's sleeve before they reach the reception desk.

He stops and looks down at her. "Yes?"

God. He probably stays at places like this without batting an eye. Lizzie suddenly feels more than a little abashed. "Um—I—I don't think I can afford this place."

Darcy's eyes go wide, and then he looks down at the floor, shuffling a little. "I—I apologize. I didn't think—" His mouth hangs open for a moment.

At least now she's not alone in her embarrassment. Not that it makes her feel much better.

He looks up to meet her eyes. "I'm very sorry for the misunderstanding. I'd assumed I'd be paying for your room. But, if that's uncomfortable we can . . . ?" His voice trails off in uncertainty.

Lizzie feels an unsettled stirring in her chest. This is exactly the kind of scenario that has troubled her since her feelings for Darcy first started to change. Will she ever be able to feel completely comfortable in a relationship with someone whose means are so far beyond her own? She can't just let him throw money around for her, can she? But isn't that what she and her family are already doing with this lawsuit?

These are questions Lizzie isn't ready to answer yet. She doesn't want to become dependent on his favors. But she doesn't want to force him out of his comfortable hotel into something more budget-friendly, either.

"We can go somewhere else, if you'd be more comfortable," he says, his face looking a little flushed.

Lizzie shakes her head. "I guess you can cover my room. But you'll have to let me treat you to dinner." She glances around the lobby. "And probably breakfast, too, to even things out."

His face resumes his normal almost-smile, and he nods. "That sounds like a perfectly reasonable solution. I accept."

Lizzie smiles back and nods. "Good."

Darcy checks them into their rooms, and they head to the elevators. She notices that he politely declines the busboy service—probably to spare her the anxiety of paying a tip. She sucks on the inside of her bottom lip and stares at the floor as they ride the elevator up. This is a whole new balancing act, and if anything ever happens between them, it's something she'll have to get used to.

The hotel gave them rooms directly across from each other, and they agree to meet back in the hall in fifteen minutes, so Darcy has enough time to call the P.I., Harris, and to formulate a plan for approaching George.

As Lizzie freshens up in her room, the knot in her stomach tightens back up. It's almost time to face George.

Though she'd looked forward to this confrontation earlier, now Lydia's questions weigh on her. This won't be the simple slap-his-face-sneer-and-walk-away confrontation that'd she'd had in mind. She owes it to Lydia to follow through with an actual conversation—to try to unravel the twisted motives of George's sick mind.

She's not sure if she can do it.

When she meets Darcy back in the hall, she already feels a little sick.

"I'm afraid we might not be able to see George, tonight," he says as soon as she steps out of her room. He's changed from his slacks and dress shirt into jeans and a more casual button-down.

"Why?" She feels both relieved and ashamed of that relief.

Darcy nods. "According to Harris, George is in a club with some of his friends. It's noisy and crowded and they've been drinking. It's hardly the ideal situation for what we have in mind."

"Yes. I mean, we want him to be sober. And it has to be quiet and private enough that he hears and understands everything. Is there any way Harris can get George out into the parking lot?" she asks, secretly hoping that the answer is no.

"Perhaps. But a club parking lot isn't much better than the club itself. And there's still the matter of inebriation. George needs to have a clear mind for this. I want to be certain that there's no chance for him to misunderstand what we have to tell him." A hard edge works its way into Darcy's voice. "It would probably be best for us to wait until morning. I can instruct Harris to follow George to wherever he ends up spending the night. We can confront him before he starts his day early tomorrow."

Lizzie nods. "Yes. That sounds like the best plan."

"All right. Let me text him my instructions." Darcy raises his phone. "So I suppose we can go get that dinner you mentioned," he says casually as he texts. "Would you like me to have the concierge find us a restaurant?"

"No. Nope." Lizzie rocks on her feet. There he goes again. She's sure Darcy doesn't even realize there's anything wrong with his assumption that the concierge is the best method of finding a place to eat. He lives in world where big tips and fancy dining are the norm. "I think, maybe, we can just drive around a little and see what looks good?" She hopes he picks up on her hint that she needs to find an affordable place without her having to explain it.

He tucks his chin toward his neck and looks sheepish. "Yes. Certainly."

"And maybe I can drive?" she suggests. "You've been behind the wheel a lot already today." And it will be much easier for her to pick an inexpensive place when she's in control of the car.

He quickly agrees and they head back down to the car.

She manages to find a modestly priced chain restaurant not far from the hotel. Fortunately, Darcy doesn't voice a single word of criticism. Maybe he's starting to understand the uneasy place she's coming from where money is concerned.

When the hostess leads them to their table, Darcy steps forward to pull Lizzie's chair out for her. She blinks in surprise and her stomach does a little flip.

Maybe she's going on a date with Darcy, after all.

Darcy doesn't turn his nose up at the blandly-mass-market menu options, and he even puts on a good show of enjoying the complimentary bread. However, Lizzie's nerves are still running high. She decides to treat herself to some of the inexpensive wine. Alcohol is just the thing she needs to help her relax, right now.

As they wait for their food, Lizzie turns the conversation back to Gigi, and how well she got along with Lydia. After a few moments she works up the nerve to ask a question that's been on her mind for a long time, now. "What was it like, having to step up and take over raising her when your parents passed away?"

Darcy stares off into space for a moment, and Lizzie fears that she's crossed some sort of line.

"I'm sorry—that was too personal," she says.

"No. No." He shakes his head. "I don't speak of it often, but it's not too personal. I—I don't mind talking about this with you."

His emphasis on his final "with you" is slight, but meaningful. He's already opened up about several very personal topics with her. Topics that he didn't even discuss with his best friends. For some reason he trusts her with the private details of his life. And he's trusted her with them long before she did anything to deserve that trust. It unsettles her—but in a not-altogether-unpleasant way.

"I was a sophomore at Harvard when my parents died," he says. "I was living the normal life of a twenty-year-old student. Studying, dating, spending time with friends. I was on the Harvard swim team, and I lived with a few roommates. Then, suddenly, everything changed." His eyes take on a distant look as he speaks. He glances up to meet Lizzie's eyes. "Gigi is seven years younger than me. I didn't really know her very well. She was still a little girl while I was an adult. Those first two years were—insane, to put it mildly."

Lizzie leans toward him, listening intently as he recounts transferring Gigi to a prep school in Boston and moving them both into an apartment in between the two campuses. He'd dropped out of all his extra-curricular and cut down his class schedule.

"I never could have done it without the nanny," he says. "She was a godsend. She was there to make sure I didn't muck things up too badly on a daily basis, and she managed all the . . . girl stuff. I certainly wasn't mature enough at the time to get Gigi through her first period."

Lizzie laughs with him. It's hard for her to imagine what it must have been like for both of them. His youth had been suddenly and painfully cut short, with adult responsibilities thrust on him whether he was ready or not. His seriousness and self-discipline makes so much more sense in this context.

"Even with the nanny, I tried to be there for all the important things. Swim meets, choir concerts, birthday parties, family dinner every evening, shopping for clothes." He winces a little at that last item. "She needed me, so I made her my top priority."

He has a warmth and liveliness in his eyes as he speaks about Gigi that moves Lizzie.

"You really are a second father to her," she says.

He smiles softly. "In a way, I am. I'm sure I've had my fair share of blunders, but I feel fortunate that I've always been able to be there for her. Few brothers have the opportunity to share this kind of relationship with their sisters. I ended up graduating a semester behind my classmates, because of my added responsibilities in caring for Gigi. But it was worth it."

Lizzie isn't sure whether it's the wine or his smile, but she feels warm all over. "I can see why you're so protective of her."

Darcy nods and looks down at the bread on his plate. "When I discovered her with George—" His voices catches in his throat, "I'd never been so angry in my life. And as much of that anger was at myself as it was at him. I felt like I'd failed her when she needed me the most."

He meets her eyes again, and Lizzie feels as if he's looking right into her heart.

"That's how I understand exactly what you were feeling when you found out about the website," he says. "Because I've felt the same way."

Lizzie blinks rapidly to hold back the moisture rising in her eyes, and looks away. "And that's what brings us here."

"Yes. It is."

Their food soon arrives, breaking the tension.

As they eat, Darcy chats casually about moving back to San Francisco to take over as CEO of Pemberley following his graduation. "Along with inheriting my parents' company, I also felt obligated to take on several of their pet charitable causes," he says. "That's how I met Bing, actually. His parents sat on the board of the Friends of the San Francisco Symphony, and I was attending one of their fundraising events. Alone. I hadn't thought far enough ahead to find a date. And I was one of the only people under the age of thirty in attendance. Except for Bing. His parents brought him along, for some reason—I don't remember, now. And he took pity on me, and went out of his way to befriend me. We spent most of the evening getting to know each other, and we started cycling together soon after. We've been friends ever since."

Lizzie grins. "I always wondered how you two met. It's good to have a best friend, like that. I don't know what I'd do without Charlotte."

Darcy nods, his face falling a little. "Actually—things aren't that good between Bing and I right now."

"Why not?"

He toys with his fork. "Just before this business with the website came up, I told him about your videos. And about Jane, and about what I'd done to keep them apart. He was—not happy with me. We haven't spoken since."

Lizzie is stunned. After her costume-theater conversation with him about Bing, she hadn't thought he'd do anything. Clearly, she was wrong. "I—I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "The confession was long overdue. I understand his anger. Has he tried to contact Jane, yet?" He wears a hopeful expression.

Lizzie frowns. "Not that she's told me. I'm sorry."

He looks down again and nods.

Lizzie remembers how difficult it was for her while she and Charlotte were fighting. Darcy could really use his friend, right now. "Hey—Bing is a really forgiving guy. I'm sure that once he's had a little space, he'll understand and forgive you. And it means a lot that you came forward to try to make amends. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I sincerely hope so."

Lizzie takes another gulp of wine. "Have a little faith. Things will work out in the end."

His smile returns. "I could say the same to you."

"Fair point." She nods slowly. She'd certainly been running out of faith that they'd stop the video in time. Yet, here they were, ready to serve George with a lawsuit. Maybe she needed to start reevaluating the other aspects of her life where her faith had been wavering.

After they finish Darcy quietly watches her pay the bill, just as he'd agreed. She's happy for it. Their meal probably doesn't cost half as much as her hotel room, but it still helps to balance the scale a little.

Between her two glasses of wine and the way Darcy's been looking at her all night, Lizzie feels a little light-headed, so she lets him drive back to the hotel.

When they reach their rooms, they stand in the corridor staring at each other. His eyes linger on her face, tracing the curve of her lips before coming back up to her eyes. She feels warm and reckless.

She's not ready for this to end.

When he suggests they turn in, since they'll have an early morning, she counters by saying, "Actually, I'm not really tired yet. I've still got all sorts of energy buzzing through me. Do you want to, maybe, hang out for a little while?"

He swallows, and he tucks his head down to his neck, again. "I—yes. Certainly. I'm not really tired. If you'd like the company. Would you like to come in?" He gestures at his room.

A thrill runs down her spine. "Yes. I would."

William still isn't certain what turn of fate led him to this point—sitting on the foot of his bed with Lizzie beside him, flipping channels on the television, with both of them drinking the tiny bottles of vodka from his mini-bar.

He's never seen her like this before. She's so relaxed and free. He imagines this must be what it's like when she's hanging out with her friends—a group to which he apparently now belongs. That thought sends a warm surge through his body that he tries to ignore. Though it gets more difficult when she laughs at something on the TV and leans against him, briefly resting her head on his shoulder before sitting back up again.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Does she have any idea how she affects him? Would she still act so casual and free if she did?

He knows that she can't have any idea that the more time he spends with her the deeper and more hopelessly he falls in love with her. She'd never be so comfortable around him if she did. Or would she?

The program they've been watching goes to commercial and Lizzie flips the channel. She finds one of the newer Star Wars movies playing—the second one, he thinks.

Anakin and Obi Wan are having some sort of tense conversation and Lizzie points at them, glaring. "See that? That right there is why the whole Republic fell. Because those two idiots didn't respect each other." She holds her finger up, wagging it to emphasize her point. "Respect is the key to any successful relationship—whether it's family, or work, or whatever. Respect. And Anakin never respected Obi Wan, and Obi Wan never respected Anakin, and Anakin went over to the dark side and killed all the Jedi and everything fell apart. Because they lacked respect." She giggles. "I think I'm a little buzzed."

William smiles. It's a delight to see her relaxed and giddy like this. "I think you might be. But you do make a good point. I agree that respect is a key component of any successful relationship."

"Exactly." She jabs his chest with her finger. "Respect. That's why I was worried when Charlotte took that job with Ricky. I thought there was no way they could ever respect each other enough to work together. But I was wrong. I was wrong." She shrugs and shakes her head. "But I really screwed the pooch with Lydia. I never respected her. I didn't respect her choices, or her desires, or her tastes. I thought I was better than her, and she knew it. I broke her down and left her vulnerable. And then George—"

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. "Damn it. Sorry."

"It's all right, Lizzie. You didn't cause these things to happen to Lydia. George did." William rests a hand on her back, in between her shoulder blades. He wants to comfort her—to make things better. But he isn't entirely certain how.

Lizzie huffs. "Yes. George. Now there's a man who doesn't respect anyone but himself. He treats people like playthings. He doesn't value them for anything but his own gratification. And I almost fell for his act! God, I hate that I almost believed in him. He never cared about me. He never respected me. Same with Lydia. He never really cared about her at all. He's the worst."

Her words strike him at his core. He's been pondering, lately, why he made such a mess of his personal life over the past year, and he thinks that Lizzie's slightly inebriated words come close to the truth. "I wonder if I'm really any better than him," he says.

Lizzie scrunches up her face. "What? That's ridiculous."

William shakes his head. "I haven't exactly been a paragon of respect, either. Look at the way I treated Bing and Jane! I deserve their anger. I didn't respect them, or their abilities to manage their own lives. I thought I was better than they were—more capable and discerning. The scorn you felt for me was entirely justified. Especially after the way I spoke of your family. I was too high on my horse to respect them, either." He feels ashamed as he admits his guilt, but it is all true, and she deserves to hear it.

"You respect me," she replies softly.

His throat feels tight, and he can hardly catch his breath as he stares down into her eyes. After such a confession, her reaction is to leap to his defense? He can scarcely believe it.

"I didn't always," he says, just as softly. This is a painful truth, but one that he feels he needs to admit. He owes it to her. "Your videos are proof enough of that. Just remembering the way I spoke to you that night at Collins and Collins—I'm still ashamed of what I said and what I felt. I was a selfish and self-centered man, so convinced of the rightness of my own opinions that to have you question me—to have you reject me so passionately—it turned me inside out. You changed everything, Lizzie. You forced me to look at myself as others saw me. I realized that while I knew what was good and what was right, I'd only been going through the motions of goodness rather than actually being a good person." He pauses, carefully choosing his next words. He's never opened himself up like this before to anyone, and he wants to get it right. "After I watched your videos, I vowed to change. I committed myself to never falling into the rut of complacency or arrogance or selfishness ever again. It's a difficult path, and I still make mistakes. Frequently. But I believe it will be worth it. I want to be a better man. I want to be a truly good man. Because of you, Lizzie. Because you opened my eyes. And for that, I will always be grateful."

He holds Lizzie's gaze. She seems stunned—at a loss for words. His heart feels so full, and he wants to tell her everything it holds.

He drops his eyes, hoping to give them both a moment to get a handle on their emotions.

Lizzie has to force herself to keep breathing. Darcy's words have shocked her back into soberness. No one has ever paid her a greater compliment, and she has no idea how to respond to it.

Her first thought is to kiss him.

When he drops his eyes she breaths a little deeper and stops herself. He isn't doing this so she'll throw herself at him. She knows that. She trusts him.

"I think—" She searches for the right words. "—I think you underestimate yourself. And you overestimate me." She shakes her head. "Just look at Pemberley. Those people think the world of you, and they already thought the world of you before I came into the picture. And . . . and Gigi and Bing, and Fitz. They already loved you and believed in you before anything I ever said. You always were a good person. Maybe you just didn't always know how to express yourself?"

He smiles ruefully, looking down at his lap. "Thank you for thinking so well of me. I'm still not convinced I deserve it."

"Of course you do! Look at what you're doing for Lydia. This video could have impacted her for the rest of her life. And I'm sure you're spending thousands of dollars and tons of time on this, when you absolutely didn't need to. What you're doing for my sister is amazing." She rests a hand on his thigh and leans into him. Her heart races in her chest.

Darcy is a man full of so many contradictions that she doesn't have any idea how to make sense of him. But she knows with sudden certainty that she wants him in her life. He matters to her. And he's going to go on mattering to her long after this business with George is done.

He raises his head to meet her eyes again. "Even in this my selfishness threatens to get the better of me. I'm happy to help your sister, but from the start I mostly thought of you."

This time when the impulse to kiss him strikes, she doesn't fight it.

They are already so close that she only needs to lean forward a few inches. She brushes her lips against his, letting them linger just long enough to send a new wave of warmth surging through her body.

When she pulls back, his eyes are wide—shocked. He lets his breath out slowly, as if he's been holding it. "Lizzie." Her name drops from his lips in a whisper.

"William," she whispers back. She kisses him again.

This time she parts her lips ever-so-slightly, to let him feel the moisture against his skin. He leans into the kiss and runs a hand up her back, setting all her nerves on fire.

Once again, the kiss only lasts a few seconds.

He holds her gaze, and he looks oddly—concerned?

"Lizzie," he says, "I—I just want to be sure—are you—I don't want this if you're just doing it out of gratitude or … or obligation."

She knits her brows and frowns, frustrated and bewildered. "You actually think I'd make out with someone because I feel like I owe them? Do you really believe that?"

Darcy pulls back from her, looking down and stammering. "I—well—I—now that you say it out loud, it does sound rather foolish."

"Do you think?" God, he could be such an idiot sometimes. But after almost twenty-five years of experience, she's finally starting to realize that idiocy isn't just a Darcy-thing. It's a human-thing. She's been there more times than she can count.

"I'm sorry." He shakes his head, still looking down. "I ruined it. Whenever I'm nervous I always manage to say exactly the wrong thing."

Lizzie sighs. He isn't perfect. Far from it. Nor is he a knight in shining armor riding up to save Lydia from certain doom. He's just a good man trying to be a better man. And right now, that's exactly what she wants. "Then maybe you could try not talking for a while."

"Yes. I think that would be best. Wait . . . ?" He looks up again, meeting her gaze with a puzzled expression. "Do you mean . . . ?"

"Darcy. Quiet."

His mouth hangs open for just a moment, and then he closes it and nods.

Lizzie smiles. Then she kisses him again.

If someone had told her this morning that she would end her day rolling around with Darcy on his hotel bed, indulging in the best make out that she's experienced in years, she would have called them crazy. And she would have been delighted to be proved wrong.

As she runs her fingers through his hair—as she sucks the warm breath from his mouth deep into her lungs—as she gasps at the feeling of his large hand caressing her back, her leg, her breast—as her lips slide along his cheek and his work their way down her neck—she feels with growing certainty that right here, right now, this is exactly where she belongs and he is exactly who she belongs with.

After a time they settle into a quieter embrace. Lizzie lies on the bed, her feet tangled with his legs, and he reclines beside her, propped up on one elbow to lean over her, drinking in her lingering kisses as he traces the curve of her thigh with his free hand. The fire burning inside of her has calmed into some glowing embers, but when Darcy slides his hand beneath her skirt she feels the warmth blaze back up into roaring heat.

He pulls back from her kiss and stares into her eyes. "May I?"

Lizzie can't help but laugh. He's just asked permission to finger her in the same blandly polite tones he'd use to ask for a second glass of water at the dinner table. It's so very, very Darcy that she likes him all the more for it.

He knits his brows and quirks a puzzled smile at her.

"Yes," she breathes out, and reaches out to palm the hard bulge in his pants, deciding that two can play at this game.

His breathing grows more rapid, but he doesn't say a word—he merely leans down to kiss her again.

She sighs against his lips when his fingers reach their destination. When they slide inside her panties, she moans and twists her hand in his shirt.

Her heat steadily rises, and she feels light-headed. It's been so long since she's done this with anyone, she'd almost forgotten how damn good it can feel.

She shifts her hips to give him freer access, and then reaches for his belt and zipper.

He groans when she finally gets her hand inside his pants and begins to return the favor.

They move together, breathing deep of each other's warm, lusty sighs. When Lizzie begins to rise to a climax, she finds herself gasping out his name. "Will . . . oh god . . . William."

"Lizzie," he moans into her neck. "Fuck."

Darcy isn't a man who often uses profanity, and this is first time she's heard him utter that word. It makes her feel powerful and beautiful to know that she's the one who can unravel his formal persona so completely, and it's enough to push her over the edge.

She cries out in pleasure, pushing her body against him as she trembles with the aftershocks. "William," she whispers. He shudders with a soft gasp and she feels his orgasm in her hands.

They lay there for several minutes, still wrapped around each other, breathing deep from release.

"Wow," Lizzie finally says, her mind still spinning. She can hardly believe what just happened. "That was—really nice."

"Yes," Darcy replies in a strangled voice, "it was." A moment later, in a more normal voice, he adds, "We should probably get cleaned up."

Lizzie swallows and nods. "Yeah. You're probably right."

Though she's reluctant to leave his side, she rolls away from him and stumbles to her feet. As she stands washing her hands in the sink, still somewhat dazed, he walks up behind her and pulls off his shirt before grabbing one of the hotel towels to clean up.

Even after what they've just done, her breath still catches at the sight of his bare torso—long and lean and toned. She can imagine herself waking up to that every morning.

No. She turns off the water and dries her hands on the nearest towel, her eyes wide. Is she really thinking about pursuing what would be only the third sexual relationship of her life with a guy who she's spent more time hating than liking? And there's the issue of their different social classes—and the long-distance relationship problem. There's still so much unresolved hurt and so many unanswered questions between them. Rationally, this relationship doesn't stand a chance.

But her not-so-rational side still thinks it might be worth the risk.

She can't make this decision right now. Not when she's still a little buzzed and caught in the afterglow. She needs time to get sober and really think.

She turns to see him leaning against the wall, staring at her with lonely-puppy eyes.

"Um," he says, "I think I need a shower."

Lizzie blinks in surprise. "Oh. Yes. Of course. Um . . . I guess I can just, go back to my room now."

He steps toward her. "Lizzie, I . . . I. . ."

She waves her hands in front of her and shakes her head. If he touches her again—if he invites her to stay—she's not sure she has the will to say no. She backs away. "I know. This is a little weird, right? Um. I think we both need a little time, to, uh, think about things. You know?"

He squeezes his lips together and nods, edging back from her. "Yes. Naturally. So, uh, goodnight?"

"Yes. Right. I'll—see you in the morning."

He swallows and shifts his feet a few times. "All right. Well—Harris said he'd call sometime early tomorrow to have us come and confront George. Probably before eight. So—I'll just—text you when he calls?"

Lizzie nods as she backs into the bedroom. "Yep. Sounds good." She turns to grab her purse and card-key from the side table. "I'll just—see you then."

He stands in the bathroom doorway, staring at her. She lifts her hand for a silly wave goodbye, and hurries out the door. She gets into her own room as quickly as possible and drops her bag.

Her stomach turns over a few times and she leans against the wall, breathing deeply. Her mind is a confused jumble of emotions that she hasn't sorted out yet.

After a moment she strips, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor. She grabs her toiletry kit out of her overnight bag and deposits it on the counter before turning on the shower. She sighs as she steps under the warm water.

She knows she cares about Darcy. She knows she wants him in her life. But, after tonight, she's also virtually certain that he's still in love with her.

After what's happened tonight she knows they can never go back to mere friendship, again. No—if he stays in her life, it will be as something much more than that. From here on out it's all or nothing.

So which will it be? All? Or nothing?

She wonders if there's enough hot water in the hotel to wash away her confusion.

William tosses and turns long into the night.

He wants to believe that tonight was the beginning of everything he's imagined and hoped for. He wants to believe that, starting in the morning, he and Lizzie will be together. That they'll find a way to make it work.

But he's terrified that instead, tonight may have ruined whatever chances he ever had with her.

He doesn't think he'll ever get to sleep.

TBC