Abruptly, apropos of nothing, I blurted, “I don’t think we should move in together.”

Martin’s hand stopped midair as he reached for another grape on my plate and his blue-green eyes told me I’d caught him off guard.

“Really…” he said, like he was stalling for words.

“First of all, I’ve already renewed my dorm room lease for the entire summer, and Sam is counting on me. As well, I’m very regimented about things like dishes and messes and such. I wouldn’t want us to be roommates and find that we can’t stand living with each other. Sam and I keep a chore list and we’re both really good about sticking to it. Would you be that kind of roommate? Also, there is the matter of cost, size, and personal taste. I don’t mind living in a small space, I actually kind of like it. I also like how inexpensive it is compared to an apartment. It is likely that where you’ll want to live wouldn’t suit my budget or my size preference. As well, the opposite is probably true…”

Martin watched me through my well-reasoned speech. His surprise at my subject choice changed to a leveling glare of cynicism, then frustratingly, complete withdrawal.

“If you don’t want to move in with me you can just say so.”

I wrinkled my nose at his frosty tone. “No, Martin—it’s not about wanting or not wanting to move in with you, it’s about thinking through all the pros and cons of any proposed action.”

His jaw ticked. “Do you want to be with me after this week is over?”

“Yes. We’re dating. We’re officially two dating people who are dating each other, at least that is my understanding. We are dating, right?”

He nodded coolly, but said nothing.

I tried to pacify his sudden surly mood. “We don’t have to move in together in order to be dating, or be in a relationship, or see each other.”

“When?”

I frowned at his question because I didn’t know what he was asking and he looked extremely frustrated.

“When what?”

“When are we going to be together? When will I see you when we get back?”

“You want specific dates and times?”

“How often? Will I see you every day? Or will it be once a week?”

“Martin—”

“Maybe we should make a chore chart for it.” He stood abruptly, looking menacing and angry. “Then you can allocate just the right amount of time to maintaining an adequate relationship.”

I stood as well, heat spreading from my chest to my neck. “That’s not how it would be.”

“I’m going for a swim.” Martin turned from me and pulled off his shirt; he shook off his sandals as I rounded the table, trying to reach him before he jumped off the boat.

“You’re overreacting. Just stop for a second and think about this. I know if you think about this you’ll see that I’m right.”

Martin’s attention was on his watch as he removed it from his wrist. “All I know is that I’m completely crazy about a girl who doesn’t want to move in with me because she’s worried I’ll be messy.”

“That’s an oversimplification of the issue, Martin Sandeke. You can’t let your passion make every decision for you.”

“No, you’re right.” He stilled and glanced up at me then, his eyes glinting like daggers, his voice hard. “It’s much better to be a musical prodigy, to love something passionately, but give up and bow out gracefully. To not fight. To talk yourself out of caring about what matters to you, because then you’ll have all those fine deeds and reasonable decisions and logic to keep you warm at night.”

My mouth moved but nothing emerged. He was being completely crazy and irrational and I had no idea how to interact with someone who was being completely crazy and irrational.

But then I looked at him more closely as he placed his watch on the table and saw the unhappy curve of his mouth. I realized I’d hurt him.

“Martin.” I placed my hand on his bicep to stay his movements. He winced a little at the contact, but I took heart in the fact he didn’t shrug me off. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want us to be—”

“Smart,” he finished for me, his resentful gaze softening as it moved over my face. “I know. You always want to be smart and do the right thing. But the problem is, Parker…I just want you.”

CHAPTER 7

Covalent Bonding and Orbital Overlap

Martin went for a swim. A really, really long swim. I was a little jealous of the water.

I distracted myself by finishing up my last term paper.

He returned and I tried to keep from gawking or drooling as he pulled himself out of the water. He was wet, so very, very wet. As such, all the oxygen seemed to abruptly disappear from the atmosphere. He dried himself off and I pretended not to watch. Eventually, mostly dry, he disappeared into the captain’s cabin.

I sighed unhappily then distractedly studied for my math test. Then I heard a strange buzzing and clicking and realized it was coming from Martin’s infernal lazy fishing pole contraption.

He’d caught two yellowfin tuna by proxy and I had to make a split decision: I could go get him and risk losing both fish, or I could try to haul up the smaller, more manageable of the two. I was successful in bringing up the one, but the other broke loose and swam off in the three minutes it took to get my fish netted, unhooked, and deposited in a huge cooler of sea water set on the deck.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

I looked over my shoulder and found him leaning against the doorway to the upper deck cabin, watching me as I bent over the cooler and untangled the fish from the net. He was still shirtless and droplets of water were clinging to his hair.

“I lost the bigger fish.” I straightened and said this apologetically. “I didn’t think I could bring it up by myself and I didn’t want to lose them both.”

He shrugged and moved away from the door, walking to me until he crowded my space. His hands slipped under my T-shirt and caressed the expanse of my stomach.

“Hi,” he said, looking down at me. He looked a little cagey and regretful.

“Hi,” I said, then lifted on my tiptoes to give him a kiss. It was just a soft press of my mouth to his, but I needed it. When I went back on my feet I saw he needed it too.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re forgiven,” I said.

He smiled, and those thorny feelings in his gaze gave way to relief. “I haven’t told you why I’m sorry.”

“You’re still forgiven.”

His thumbs dipped into the waistband of my shorts, rubbing down the line of my hips. “I did overreact. And all your points are valid ones. I just don’t want to get back to campus and for this to go away. I need to see you, often.”

I wound my arms around his back and pressed him to me. Really, I wanted to feel his skin against mine, but for now I decided to settle for just his warmth.

“This isn’t going away. I don’t think I’m going to disappear into a chemistry lab cabinet when we get back. And besides, if I did, you’d know where to find me.” I kissed his collarbone. Damn he was delicious. Being so close to him had my hormones throwing a parade and making a Slip ’n Slide out of my pants. It would have been embarrassing if I’d cared, but I didn’t. I’d grown to love the way he made me feel.

“Promise me that when we get back, maybe in a month, or when finals are over, you’ll reconsider moving in together.”

The idea of dating Martin—or still dating Martin—during finals made what we were doing here feel very real, and it gave it a sudden gravity. It was a fixed time point in the future. I thought about meeting him for study sessions in the library and coffee shop. How it would be. How he might spend the night with me on those odd weekends when Sam went home.

I realized, or understood better, why he wanted to move in together. If we shared an apartment our default would be together—like it had been here—and he didn’t want to give that up. Neither did I.

“Where are you living over the summer?” I asked, smoothing my hands up and down his back just so I could feel more of him.

“I was already planning to move out of the house in April. I was thinking of an apartment downtown.”

“So far away?”

“Yeah, but then I can catch the train to New York easier.”

“What’s in New York?”

He hesitated for a minute, watched me, and his hands stilled. “A project I’m working on.”

“What kind of project? A class assignment?”

He shook his head, his fingers moving around to the back of my shorts. “No. It’s not for class. It’s a…a venture capitalist thing.”

My eyebrows bounced up and down as I oscillated between surprised and impressed. “Just a little venture capitalist thing, in New York?”

He huffed a laugh, his voice low, rumbly, and delicious as he said, “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Does it have anything to do with your cheating fishing poles? Maybe a golf club that plays eighteen holes all by itself?”

“No, it has nothing to do with fishing. It’s, uh, it’s satellites.”

“Oh.” I nodded, made sure I looked like I thought satellites were as impressive as a finger painting. “Oh, satellites. Who doesn’t have a little venture capitalist side project in New York about satellites? I have twenty at least.”