"Good."

But it isn't enough. Some insecure, jealous, eternally-spurned part of him wants to make sure she never cares about someone else again. He wants her, exclusively, totally. He slips his hand up her thigh, lingering on the sensitive skin there, plucks at her underwear like a harp. He waits for her body to invite him.

"I care. About you." The words are clumsy and artless, hesitant. Possibly the first time he's combined them in that order to anyone.