Alarm blares off in my head as I stare at the car that's definitely not Kathie's easing toward me. My mind couldn't decipher what to make of the car. A betrayal that my sister called Nathan or frustration that Nathan insisted he comes instead. Or just a teeny tiny bit of exasperation not directly at Nathan, but his tendencies to volunteer on any crisis.

In Kathie's defense, she must have called Nathan prior to answering mine with reasons Ethan-related and he was simply available. I plastered a smile when he comes into view. It may have faltered a bit when he climbs out of the car wearing sweatpants and a shirt which in Nathan's wardrobe is PJs. Add in the just rolled-out-of-bed mess of a hair, and the guilt-train just goes screeching down the railroad.

Not that I didn't want to see him in his current state where he's rocking a bedroom look – I just feel bad that I inconvenienced him in some way.

Then and now.

"Hi." I hid the injured knuckle when his eyes did a quick perusal. I rushed to the other side of the car and helped myself in without meeting his gaze.

Nathan climbs back in. "What happened?"

I answered with a shake of the head. "Everything's fine."

"Chassie."

Nathan is not the 'I told you so' type. I just don't want him to think he was right.

"I just needed a ride home." I busied my eyes on the bustling street. At half past nine, nightclubs get longer lines of party people even on school nights or weekdays.

"Chassie, please." It sounded like a demand and a plea at the same time.

I sucked in a breath and turn to meet his face.

"What happened?" This time, he pinned me in his gaze – in a way I wouldn't have the heart to straight out lie.

"I, uh," I stammered, "I kind of punch Adam Roswell."

"Adam Roswell? Why would you go on a date with that jerk?" The name slipped roughly through his gritted teeth.

I shrug to make things light. "I was trying to figure out if he's changed."

"What happened exactly? Did he hurt you?" His eyes frantically roamed all over me in search for bruises.

"Can you start driving now?" I hid my injured knuckle as if it will hide the shame gnawing at me.

He heaved a disgruntled sigh, but complies anyway. "Tell me what happened exactly."

"You know me. I just acted on a stupid rage." I trained my eyes on the busy streets. Anywhere but him.

He made a guttural sound then the car pulled up on the side of the road. "For the love of God, Chassie George, you're killing me. Tell me or I'll beat the truth out of that bastard."

My head snapped toward him. "He said something I didn't like."

Nathan plucks the key out of the ignition. It was clear he's not having it when he shifted on his seat to face me. He reaches for my cheek, even with tensed fingers, the brush of his thumb was gentle. My head leans to it on its own accord. There was a suspicious pricking in the corners of my eyes.

"I think he might have implicated that I'm fat." My voice came out as a whisper like a disgraceful part of my subconscious.

"That's bullshit. Don't believe anything that idiot says."

I nodded, hoping I could steer us to more comfortable topics. Anywhere miles away from weight, immaturity and "bratty" teenage years.

"Something else happened." His hand dropped to his lap.

My head turn side to side. "Nothing else happened."

"Fine. I'll go straight to his house and beat him to a pulp." His face turned stony. It's been a while since I saw him angry it felt oddly alarming.

"Nathan," I gulp, "he, uh, he made a pass at me."

His jaw visibly clenched. "That son of a bitch."

My mouth slightly parted at that. Nathan is not usually hostile in his choice of words. He's that quarter of the population who thinks before speaking. That having said, the hostility is deliberate. I have only heard him cuss a few times – situations warranting that good old cursing.

I'm surprised this could summon the B-word.

And let me just say, the subservient Nathan which is his default mode is attractive, but this totally works for him too. Really works for him. Maybe crossing the beeline past... hot?

I don't know, it's been years since I thought of anyone that's not a celebrity as hot, but this is a good practice.

"Nathan, everything's good. I punched the guy." Although most of the damage was on my knuckles than his smug face, it's preferable to call it even.

His eyes softened at the mention of my injured hand. "Let me see."

"It's fine now."

"Let me see."

I sighed in defeat. "I don't like you sometimes."

"At least you can live with that. But never with a busted hand." He slowly takes said hand off my lap himself, shaking his head at the bluish discoloration.

"I've already applied an ice pack on it," I blurted, just in case it was worth mentioning.

"Chassie, if you're going to punch somebody, just let me do it for you." He cradled my hand, assessing further damage.

A smile crept up to my face. "Does this mean we're good?"

"We're always good." He raised an eyebrow.

"So," I adjusted on my seat, grinning at him, "you're good about the whole dating the ex-admirers?"

His face fell flat. "Absolutely not."

My smile slid off.

"Seriously, Chassie. That jerk deserves more than a good beating."

"It's okay. I just had a rough start."

"What do you mean? You're still going to go out with some douchebags after what happened tonight?" Nathan frowns.

"Yeah. I told you I just had a rough start. Maybe it won't be this bad with the next guy."

Nathan sighs, letting go of my hand. "Chassie."

"What?"

He turns the key on the ignition, muttering to himself. He drove us back on the road, not sparing me a glance.

"Nathan."

He ignores me.

"Hey." I tap on his arm.

There's a slight twitch in his jaw, but that's all there is.

"Nathan." I pressed a finger on his side where he used to be ticklish.

He jumped a little. "Chassie George, I'm driving."

"No. You're sulking." It's always been fun when this guy here gets mad. Although it's been years since we had a little fight, I still find it endearing and adorable. Actually, had he not went pouting like a kid again, I wouldn't realize it feels like I hadn't left at all. Somehow, time just picked up where it left off.

"Hey, Nathaniel." I poked his arm.

"Stop it."

I grinned. "Nathaniel," I say in a sing song voice.

"Stop it, Chassie." He frowned at the road and slapped my hand away.

I pretended to yelp in pain – maybe exaggerated it a thousandfold.

"Shit." Nathan steps on the break and made another stop on the side of the road, turning to me. "Shit, I'm sorry. Was it your injured hand? I told you to stop." He reaches for both my hands.

A giggle snuck out of my throat.

He glares at me. "That wasn't nice."

"But it worked."

He shakes his head.

"I don't like it when you're mad." I unbuckle my seatbelt, scooting closer.

"You're so stubborn," he grunted.

I purse my lips. "I know."

Nathan rolled his eyes.

"Don't stay mad at me." I move quickly, wrapping my arms around his stomach before he could reject the hug. He flinches, but I hold tight.

"You can't stay mad at me," I say, resting my cheek on his chest. Just as I intend to pull back, his hand comes up and caressed the back of my head.

"Fine," he says gruffly.

For a second, neither of us moved. Then a couple more seconds later, I have become all too aware of the proximity. And the fact that it was nice. So nice. His shirt was smooth against my cheek and I could almost hear his heart beat. He smells of mint and aftershave. I tingle a little.

A car honking as they pass our car snapped me out of the trance. I immediately pulled back. So did Nathan. He regards the passing car through his window and starts the car once again. "Seatbelt."

"Oh, right." I distractedly buckle my seatbelt.

Neither of us says much on the way home.