Page 110 of Serving Bunt

“Stare all you want, baby. Your new diet and exercise regimen starts tomorrow morning.”

Just as I reached for an empty wine glass, a hand slid around my waist. “Are you body shaming the dog again?”

I snorted. “No, I’m shaming her dealer.”

Diaz gasped behind me.

“Excuse me? I prefer treat distributor.”

I smiled despite myself. “Well, Mr. Treat Distributor, you’re welcome to join us on our morning run tomorrow.”

“Works for me.” Warm lips pressed against the back of my neck. “Want any help?”

“Sure. Unbutton my pants.”

He froze. “I meant with the dishes, but okay.”

I laughed softly and leaned back against him. He was warm from the fire and smelled faintly of red wine and whatever cologne he’d worn tonight. At some point, he had changed into one of my hoodies—the navy one with the faded university logo across the front.

I couldn’t even scold him for rolling the sleeves up to his elbows and stretching them out. Not when he looked that cute.

“Not for that,” I clarified. “The damn buttons are digging into my belly and my hands are sudsy.”

“Tesoro, I will always help you unbutton your pants.” I groaned when he did just that, and then lowered my zipper. “All you have to do is ask.”

Another kiss. Just below my ear this time.

“Thank you.”

“Happy to be of service. I live here now.”

I nearly dropped the glass back into the sink.

“You do?”

He grinned against my neck. “Not yet. But I thought I’d try it out and see what happened.”

I barked out a laugh. “Bold of you to announce your squatter status while your hands are literally in my pants.”

Diaz hummed, clearly pleased with himself, and gave the waistband of my jeans a little tug so they sat more comfortably on my hips. “Consider it a trial run. You haven’t kicked me out yet, so I must be doing something right.”

He pressed one last kiss to the side of my neck, then stepped back. I immediately missed the warmth of him.

“I’m gonna head upstairs for a few minutes,” he said, already backing toward the hallway. “Holler if you need me to come unbutton anything else.”

“Tease.”

His grin flashed in the low light. “Only for you, tesoro.”

I watched him disappear up the stairs, savoring the sway in his hips he didn’t even realize he had, and felt something warm settle in my chest. When I turned back to the sink, my hands moved on autopilot while my eyes wandered around the kitchen and beyond.

Diaz might as well live here. There were already signs of him everywhere.

His favorite mug—the one that said “I’m not arguing. I’m just explaining why I’m right” in bright rainbow letters—sat on the counter next to the ridiculously expensive espresso machine he had insisted on bringing over from his place.

His jackets took up more than half of the coatrack, along with a couple of the knit scarves that he matched to his socks. The book he had been reading aloud to me the other night—a romantic thriller that had caught his eye during our last visit to Nessa’s bookstore, Smutty Buddies—was still splayed open on the side table by the couch, a Post-it note sticking out of it because he always forgot to use an actual bookmark.

Even the fridge had been Diaz-ified.