“I was… drunk off my ass. We compromised.”
“On yournipple.”
“Yeah.” I nod once. “Once I saw the needle… no chance that thing was getting anywhere near my cock.”
She presses her lips together, shoulders shaking despite herself.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t drink vodkaortequila anymore.”
She gestures vaguely at my chest. “You know you could just let it close.”
“I could.” I pause. “I kind of like it.” More blood rushes to my face when I realize she’s looking at my chest, her cheeks also flushed.
“I can help you shower. I can be professional.”
“Uh-uh. If you so much as glance at my bare chest with that face, I’m going to embarrass myself.”
She waves it off quickly and steps forward again, but I cross my arms over my chest so she doesn’t take the shirt off.
She clears her throat and steps back, professional mask snapping into place with visible effort. “All right. Then you go shower. Onyour own.”
I smile. She turns away but pauses in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder.
I come back from the shower with my hair still damp, brain medicated and fuzzy in the way Robyn keeps assuring me is normal. She eyes my chest, and I can’t help but chuckle. She’s portioning lasagna—freezer to oven is as far as her cooking skills go.
The lasagna’s top is blistered and crisp in all the right places. I plate it at the counter, placing the crunchiest corner onto her plate and the softer middle onto mine. I don’t even think about it until she goes very still behind me.
She clears her throat. “You remembered.”
I glance back. “You like the edges. The crunch.”
Her eyes linger a beat too long on the portion I’ve set aside for her before she nods once. We eat at the coffee table with our backs against the couch, sitting close enough that our thighs touch. The room fills with the quiet scrape of forks against ceramic. Halfway through the meal, she nudges my ankle with her foot.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “Not just for today. But every time you did that. Without asking. I don’t think I ever said.”
I blink and swallow. She used to say it and then she stopped. And my brain thought it meant she was on her way out.
“You good?” she asks.
“Alive. Upright.” I rotate one shoulder. “A medical miracle.”
Her mouth twitches, but she isn’t satisfied enough to let it go. “I’m enjoying taking care of you.” The words are careful, as if she’s confirming the truth in them. “I’m appreciating now why you’re such a caretaker. There’s this warm fuzzy feeling, knowing that I’m keeping you well.” A pause. “I’m sorry I didn’t honor that before. That it was your way of showing love. Offeelingloved. I should have caught on and broughtyou coffee or lunch. At least show you how much everything you did kept me sane.”
I swallow around the nudge in my throat. “We should have talked more. I should have told you I was getting worried you’d leave me. That I didn’t feel important to you.”
Her fingers curl slightly around my knee, grounding. “Yes, but I should have also pushed more. Keeping our relationship healthy wasn’t just on you.”
“Maybe. And I still fucked up.”
I turn to her and find her gaze already on me. “Well, you totally should have kept your lips for me.” I study her face for any trace of anger or resentment, but all I find is the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement.
I smile, but add to it, wanting to make this crystal clear. “You shouldn’t have had to make yourself smaller for me,” I add. “Or anything other than what you were and are.” I grab her ankle, thumb brushing over her bare instep. “I didn’t know how to be with someone I admired that much.”
She squeezes my knee, grounding and warm, her thumb pressing once. Then she leans in. I catch the orange blossom. Her forehead nearly touches mine, close enough that our noses brush when I inhale.
“You’re not fucking up now,” she murmurs, low and sultry.
The words reach into the hollow of my chest, this empty space that belongs only to her, and work as if she were kissing it better. My mouth parts on instinct. Her gaze flicks to my lips, making the space between us hum with unbearable desire. Our breaths tangle, warm and shallow, waiting for someone to move—neither of us does.
