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Then friends she gets.

Even if I'd personally rather have her all to myself.

Not that I'd ever admit that out loud.

Well.

Maybe to the guys because they know what it feels like.

They’d still promptly tell me to stop being a possessive asshole.

The thought makes me grin as I gather cold drinks from the fridge.

Amanda's laughter drifts in from the dining room.

And God.

I love that sound.

Three years without hearing it should've killed me.

Instead, it just made me appreciate it more.

Everything about her.

The way she talks with her hands.

The way she hums under her breath while cooking.

The way she instinctively leans against me whenever we're sitting together.

It's domestic.

Simple.

Perfect.

And terrifying, but only because now I know exactly what I'd lose if anything happened to her.

I set down the drinks.

Grab more napkins.

And I make a mental note to run a background check on Nick later.

Not because I dislike the kid.

I don't know him enough to dislike him.

But I don't know him.

And that's enough.

Amanda trusts people too easily sometimes.

I don't.

Never have.