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“Oh, yeah, yeah, I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m almost done.”

“It’s fine. No need to hurry. I’m just going to get in bed.”

I’m barely under the covers before the door opens and Grace steps out into the room.

I’ve seen her in her pajamas many times now. A T-shirt or tank with a random pair of shorts is her go-to, and tonight is no different. Yet the idea that we are sharing a bed makes me notice the way her nipples peek through her shirt and that her shorts are, well, short.

She walks around the end of the bed, looking everywhere but at me.

Look, I’m a grown man, all right, but I’m also a man. I’m about to share a bed with a woman I’m deeply attracted to. I know how to control myself, but that doesn’t mean my mind and my dick don’t like the idea a little too much.

Grace peels back the covers and climbs in, a peppermint scent filling the space around me. With the size of my bed, I’d guess two people, maybe even three, could fit between us given how close to the edge Grace is lying.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“Very.”

“You sure you won’t roll over and fall off?”

She sighs. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

I prop myself up and shift to my side to look at her.

“Yes, look at you crowding me. Yeesh, was that your foot?”

She laughs and moves a little closer. “Happy now?”

“I am.”

Then she shifts to mimic my position.

“I know I’m obsessing over this more than I should, but are you still okay with everything we are doing?”

I need to make sure my answer is clear as a blue sky. “Yes, I’m okay with everything.”

“All right, but what if you need to … you know.”

I think she’s talking about sex, but to be sure, I ask, “What is you know?”

“Your needs. What will you do about them?”

“My needs?” I repeat and then hold up my hand. “This will have to do.”

She laughs at that. “I’m being serious, Preston.”

“So am I. We’re engaged, Grace. If I’m going to get off with anyone who isn’t my hand, it’s going to be you. But that’s off the table, so yes, I’m serious.”

“Who said it was off the table?” She bites her lip.

My breathing stops.

“What?”

“I mean, is it? Off the table?”

“Do you want it on the table?”