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“I’m peachy. Had the best night’s sleep of my life. In case you were wondering. I even took your advice and applied lotion, so thank you for that.” The corner of his mouth wobbles as he fights off a smirk. “I was very thorough.”

Tate’s as subtle as a brick through a window. There’s something going on in that head of his. It was a challenge to keep a straight face this morning when I found him shirtless in the kitchen, hair perfectly mussed, as if plucked straight from my filthy imagination. You’d think our tryst at Swift Falls would’ve satisfied me, but the moment I got into bed, my body demanded more, forcing my fingers to drift into my soaked sleep shorts. It was embarrassing how quickly I came.

Yesterday was a moment of weakness; today I’ll stand strong.

“That’s good to hear.” Pushing my bowl away, I walk toward the coffee machine. “Do you want another?”

“Nah. I’m good.” He leans across the counter, looking especially chipper so early in the morning. “The question is, how did you sleep?”

What is up with him? I pop a new pod into the machine before pressing the button, the fresh smell of coffee tickling my nose. “I slept fine. Seriously, are⁠—”

I still, the drip drip drip of coffee the only sound.

Oh god.

He heard me.

It’s written all over his smug, stupid face. He’s eating this up. Curse my loud mouth. Tate loves me vocal. He’d always encourage and praise me—louder, baby, or let me hear you. I was so swept up in my pleasure last night I forgot about my neighbor.

I refuse to be ashamed of seeing to my bodily urges. Tongue in cheek, I turn. “Did you expect me to live like a nun while you were gone?”

“Do nuns typically sound like this: ‘Oh, Tate. Oh god. Yes!’?” His breathy, exaggerated impression earns him a Cheerio to the head. It doesn’t deter him, and his laughter ricochets through the room. “Hey! There’s no need to get shy.”

“Shy?” I march up to him, chest to chest. He doesn’t flinch. If anything, my attitude excites him. “I don’t remember being shy last night when I gave myself the best orgasm I’ve had in a long, long time.”

His chuckle blows through my hair. I shiver when he traces a finger over my collarbone. “Was it as good as the one you had when you were grinding your sweet pussy all over my cock yesterday?”

I raise my chin. “Better.”

He knows I’m lying. My soul left my body under his attention.

“How about a demonstration?” His voice is sinful, dripping over me like hot wax. “Actually, does touching ourselves count as a strike? It isn’t like you to break the rules, naughty girl.”

My whole body pulses, but I somehow manage to form a response. “Why? Do you need some pointers on how to please your woman?”

“Is that what you are?” He steps closer. “My woman?” The blues of his eyes darken to a stormy ocean. We’ve entered dangerous territory, walking right past the do not enter sign. “I’m not complaining. I enjoyed the performance. Surprised you couldn’t hear my appreciation through the walls.”

Am I on fire? It feels like I’m on fire. He wasn’t just listening in; he was getting off on the other side.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I drag my gaze away from his enough to see the Caller ID.

The mood shrivels and dies. I’d almost be thankful if it weren’t my mother calling.

Tate follows my line of sight, and his jaw tightens. “How are your parents?”

“They’re the same bitter people they were the last time you saw them.” Which was over three years ago.

I decline her call. I’ll speak to them on the holidays and birthdays, no earlier. That is the extent of our relationship. Whenever we visited Annie, I made my excuses or didn’t tell them we were in town. Ironically, the moment news got out about Tate’s record deal, they were all too eager to visit us. The last I’d spoken to my mother was last September, when she asked for money to replace their furnace.

Then again, in January for medical fees when my dad had his gallbladder removed. That was via email.

A brief text arrived late one night in April, asking for two hundred bucks for groceries.

Tate would be furious if he knew I’d sent them money, but it kept them in Texas and far, far away from here. It was the only use I found for the obscene amount of money Tate continued to deposit into our joint account. The last thing I needed was my mom judging my marriage and delivering an I told you so. She’s probably been saving that one since the day I left home.

“Did they visit while I was gone?”

“God, no.” I realize how close I’m standing and dash toward the coffee machine. My drink is cold, but I gulp it down, needing the energy and something to do with my hands. “They had better things to do—I’m sure. What are you up to today?”