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He reached for his shirt and made a move to yank it over his head but then hesitated. “I think I spilled an entire bottle of bourbon on myself last night.”
“Give it here, I’ll throw it in the wash. You might as well take off your pants and briefs. I’ll wash them too.”
“What am I supposed to do? Walk around your condo naked?” He grinned, and I knew the idea didn’t upset him in the least as he immediately stripped again. “Isn’t this domestic? We’re doing laundry together.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dry towels are in the hall closet. Or you can wear my robe. Might be a bit short on you, but it’s your call.”
He opted for a towel. It was a small one, covering just enough of him to entice my fantasies.
“After a hot shower and steamy shower sex you seem back to your old self,” I pointed out.
“Same could be said for you. You’ve got some of your own fire back.”
“I never lost my fire,” I countered. “I just know when to bank it.”
The vulnerability he’d shown when drunk had been nothing compared to his anguish while sober. I wasn’t sure if he had let me see it on purpose, or if he’d just been unable to conceal it. Sometimes the burdens we carried weren’t so easily stowed away.
After I put Boxer’s clothes into the washing machine, I headed back to the living room. Boxer was on the couch, the remote already in his hand.
I was grateful he wanted to do something mundane that would occupy our time. I was already emotionally spent after our time in the shower. I didn’t have more in me and wanted to take it easy. He patted the seat next to him, and I curled up on the couch and pulled a navy–blue blanket over me.
“Here,” Boxer said. He took an accent pillow from the couch and placed it against his lap. “Lie down.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I stretched out, made sure I was covered, and then placed my cheek onto the pillow. His fingers dragged through my hair. Lulled by his touch and comfort, I quickly fell asleep.
* * *
I stretched my arms over my head as my eyes flitted open. I sniffed the air, unable to derive what I was smelling.
A timer buzzed.
I sat up and saw Boxer removing a glass casserole dish from the oven with red oven mitts. He set the dish on the stove and pulled off the gloves.
“What’s that?” I asked, my voice husky with sleep.
Boxer looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. “You’re awake. Just in time. I made mac and cheese.”
I blinked. “You cooked?”
“Yeah.” He was wearing his clean T-shirt and briefs, looking relaxed and at home. “You passed out and didn’t even wake up when I got up to put the clothes in the dryer. Figured I might as well use the time to make us dinner.” He cocked his head to the side. “You look confused.”
“No, I’m not confused. I’m just…thank you. That was sweet of you.”
“Yeah, that was definitely sweet of me.” He grinned. “Keep that in mind for later.”
I let out a laugh. “Will cook for sex? Is that what this is?”
“Nah. Will cook for blow jobs.”
“Good to know where we stand,” I said dryly.
I got up off the couch and headed to the bathroom. After I splashed some cool water on my face, I came back into the kitchen. Boxer had already served us, the plates set at the bar.
“You seem to be feeling better,” I commented.
“Yeah, I feel okay.”
We took our seats on the bar stools. I picked up a fork and took a bite of the mac and cheese. It was creamy and delicious, and everything I wanted.
