Nathan could practically hear his teeth gritting violently. His knuckles are white as ghost on the stirring wheel for lack of blood circulation. There's a sickening weight in the pit of his stomach as his car screeches into a stop at the hospital parking lot. He's never raced down the highway like he just did, but as he saw her waiting outside the establishment alone, the risk beyond the speed limit has been reasonable.

He hastily clambered out of his car, slamming the door shut. He strode toward her, hands clenching and unclenching.

"Don't freak out," Chassie blurted when he looks down to her injured arm in horror.

Nathan looks around in search for the bastard who didn't have the spine to stay with her. "Where is he?"

"I told him to leave. Please, don't freak out," she repeated, her red-rimmed hazel eyes resurfacing his strangled rage.

"Why shouldn't I freak out? You were crying on the phone and now I see you with a fucking cast on your arm." He reaches for her but stopped halfway through like she might break into pieces.

Her hand propped on her waist. "Well, it really hurt a lot. It's just a mild sprain though."

Nathan could still see the remnants of her crying, including the tint of mascara that must've ran with her tears. His jaw clenched. "Damn it, Chassie. What's next? A broken leg? A concussion?"

"Absolutely not a concussion." She raises a finger.

He shakes his head, hand raking over his already disarrayed hair. "I was worried."

Her hand clasp around his wrist. "I'm sorry I had you worried."

Nathan lets out a sigh and looks at her straight in the eye. "I was worried sick, Chassie."

"Sorry. I really am. It was just an accident." She chewed on her lip. "I'll tell you everything. And you have to promise not to laugh."

He blows another sigh, looking down to her hand that was squeezing his wrist. He clicks his tongue, taking her hand to his palm. "Your knuckles are barely healed and now you just had another injury."

"It's healed," she insisted, then pointed to the parking lot.

He nodded in understanding. Nathan ushered her to the parking lot, both walking in a lazy pace. "What happened?"

"Well, I," she swallowed, "I think I just ruin my chances of ever making out with anyone."

His step faltered. "You guys kissed?"

She groans. "No."

"Okay."

They stopped at his car, Chassie leaned on the hood, face torn on how else to tell the story. "We didn't. I mean, we almost did. We would have if my nerves haven't got the best of me."

He nods, urging her on.

Chassie's eyes stared blankly over his shoulder as if recalling everything that happened. "He was leaning in and I knew it was finally going to happen. But I just panicked. I had no idea what to do." She adjusted the sling on her arm, her face contorting in pain.

He tried not to let it stir a newfound anger.

"I don't know. I haven't made out with anyone since," the words hang between them like a floating ghost from the past. Nathan knew more than anyone what word was about to come next.

Chassie shakes her head, swerving away from an unsafe territory. "I haven't made out with anyone since... forever. I might not know how it works anymore." She shuddered when a gust of wind wheezed past.

He should've grabbed his jacket but that had been far off his priorities. Nathan had rolled out of bed and grabbed his key in a hurry while Chassie was on the line. Hell, he hadn't changed from his sweatpants!

She hunched her shoulders together, absently making a pause.

Nathan took a tentative step closer, his arms gently going around her. She stiffened for a moment, then nuzzled closer.

His breath rushed out of him.

"I just freaked out a little. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground and my arm was in terrible pain." Her forehead rested on his chin. "I got terrified that he might find out that I'm a sloppy kisser. And what if I am? I don't want to be remembered a bad kisser."

His hand lodged itself on the small of her back. "You're not a bad kisser."

"You don't know that." She craned her neck, meeting his eyes.

He looks down to her, an eyebrow raised. "I'm your ex-husband. I know."

Her lips pouted. "You might be saying that because you want me to feel better."

His eyes did a wayward route to her mouth. He frowned, his gaze finding their way back to her eyes. "Trust me. You're not a bad kisser. Take it from someone who used to make out with you."

Silence.

And an awkward one because he shouldn't have said something like that. But it slipped and now in the open, so he's not taking it back. Especially if it was the truth anyway.

She blinks and cleared her throat. "Did Ethan go to bed without a fuss?"

"Yeah. Your mom is a natural at babysitting," he quips.

Chassie laughs, her smile wry and inviting. "Sorry for ruining your night. You were the first person I thought of calling in the middle of all those embarrassing events. And I'm sorry about yesterday."

"I'm sorry, too," he murmurs.

She closes her eyes, pressing her forehead further against his chin then took a step back from the embrace. "We better head home. I'm gonna have to tell them the truth."

Once upon a time, Kylie Preston had a semi-exciting life. Until her spitfire attitude sparked the interest of notorious playboy, Christian Parkinson. And no matter how many times he was rebuffed, his flowers made it to her desk every single day. Although a cocky nuisance, his persistence advances him past her defenses. And then slowly, but surely, she finds herself stepping out of those defenses.