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He quirks a brow at me when he notices it’s the one I didn’t give back after the first night I slept at his place.

“Josie Hare.” He tsks, shaking his head.

I shrug with a noncommittal hum.

He huffs a laugh. “If you wanted one of my hoodies, you just had to ask.”

“Yeah, but it’s more fun when I don’t. I like being bad.”

He grins down at me. “Believe me, I know.” He lifts my legs and tugs on my shorts for me. “Now, sit up.”

He holds up the hoodie, and I do as he says, holding up my arms so he can pull it over my head. Once again, I’m enveloped by his scent, courtesy of his soft, well-worn sweatshirt.

I curl up beside him while he takes off his leg and puts on a pair of those gray sweats—the ones I now know he was using to hide his accident from me. There’s something so endearing, so heart-wrenching that he didn’t want me to know. Not because he was ashamed or embarrassed, but because he didn’t want me to feel sorry for him or resent him for holding me back.

I don’t know what to do with the fact that all these years later, he still loves me and chose to keep his feelings—his injury—to himself because he still didn’t want to be the thing that held me back. I choose not to dwell on that and instead focus on this moment with him.

He pulls the covers over us, and I let myself freely enjoy the security of being wrapped in this man’s arms.

His lips brush over my nape. “Twenty.”

I giggle and then wriggle myself against him, feeling proud of the groan he lets out when my ass rubs against his still hard cock. My eyes begin to flutter shut, and I realize that I don’t know the last time I felt truly at peace before going to bed.

Yes, there might be some small part of me that wants to be mad at him for ever thinking I wouldn’t want him because of his injury. The rest of my mind, heart, and soul—just like his—knows that I still love him.

CHAPTER 44

JOSIE

Caloric Intake

I love my van. After a couple of years living in my first van and learning the ins and outs of van life, this one has been my home for almost seven years. It was partially funded by the proceeds of selling my first van, and paid off with my cam girl work.

After spending so much time in my precious seventy-square-feet of living space, I know everything about it. I know every sound it makes and what it means, like the creaking sounds that say my shocks need to be serviced. I know every vibration it makes, like when my tires need to be rotated because the tread on my off-road tires wears out in a certain way. I also know every smell, like when the brakes are worn from driving in the mountains on steep grades.

That’s why I’m disoriented when I wake up.

Based on how much light is coming through my windshield, I slept incredibly well.

Sure, maybe it has something to do with not going out to the party after riding Sly’s thigh into the sunset, but I’m not just rested—I feel content. Waking up in his bed a couple of nights ago was peaceful, too. Unlike my room at the motel, Sly’s place was different. It felt homey, the way my van always has.

Those things are why I notice everything that’s different in my home this morning. Keeping my head pressed to the pillow, I watch as Sly works in the small space that is my all-in-one living-dining-kitchen-bathroom.

He might move in a surprisingly graceful way while he searches for my pans and cooking utensils, but he’s still large enough to rock the van in a noticeable way. He also shuts the cabinets and my refrigerator with a commanding thud that’s harsher than mine. But above all, I smell whatever he’s cooking, and I have never woken up to someone cooking for me—ever.

“What are you doing?” I ask from beneath the covers, keeping them up to my neck.

“Making breakfast?” He looks over his shoulder as if I asked the silliest question in the world. My senses are overwhelmed by the smell of some kind of spiced meat, eggs, and potatoes.

“Um, yeah. I can see that, but where did all that come from?”

He laughs. “Well, that shitty convenience store might not have had whipped cream, but they had everything else for a decent breakfast. I’m surprised you didn’t notice all this in your fridge for the last few days. That fridge is basically a glorified shoe box.”

Sitting up, I cross my arms over my chest. “Rude. My fridge could fit at least a dozen pairs of your gigantic clown shoes.”

He shakes his head and chuckles again, flipping an egg in the pan on my stovetop. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

I smirk back at him, and he grins, popping one of those dimples that makes me relax back into my bed and appreciate this moment for what it is. My van has always felt like home, but waking up in it with Sly the last few mornings, it somehow feels homier.