I WAKE UP SLOWLY, FIGHTING MY WAY THROUGH THE THICK grogginess nketing me. Everything feels soft and warm except for something hot and hard pressed against my back. As awareness seeps in around me, myshes flutter, my toes wiggle, and I eventually crack my eyes open and smile when I realize that I’m wrapped in Bash’s arms.

    I press back into him, snuggling closer, but as I move, I’m hit with a wave of light nausea. Fuzzy memories take shape in my mind as the day before filters back to me.

    The ne ride, the party, the closet, and lots of wine. After Tripp left, the instinct I’d had to stay on guard disappeared, and as lousy as I feel right now, it was totally worth it.

    Then Clyde went to bed, and with only the other couples there to see, Bash stayed close to me for the rest of the evening. Our shoulders bumped, our fingers brushed, and after a few drinks, he’d taken to giving my ass a firm squeeze on the way past.

    I have no doubt our friends noticed, but none of them said anything. We carried on. Hell, we even yed poker, and the camaraderie—the ease and thefort level—was something that I’ve never been a part of before.

    Moving from ce to ce has meant that I don’t create friendships like that. The kind that are built over years and decades, holidays, favors—a kind of friendship that feels more like family.

    I didn’t realize until I stood there in the middle of it all that this is what I’d been craving. Maybe this feeling is what I’ve been moving around searching for all along.

    It felt surreal, and it made my birthday even more special than it already was.

    What’s not so special today is realizing that I forgot I’m the one scheduled to open the yoga studio. I have sses starting this morning and running through the afternoon.

    Which makes the amount of wine I consumed less than ideal.

    I turn over to face Bash, ignoring the lurching sensation in my stomach. Propping myself up onto an elbow, I slide one hand over his thick chest and press a kiss to his sternum, breathing him in.

    His cedar-and-amber smell is downright intoxicating.

    I kiss him again on one pec, then on the other, and his arms tighten around my back as a contented mmm sound vibrates in his throat.

    “Bash,” I whisper, “I really hate to do this to you… Actually, I really hate to do this to me, but I have to go to work.”

    He chuckles, rough andzy. “Did you have too much funst night?”

    I press my cheek against his chest and smile into him, feeling warm, safe, and protected. “No such thing as too much fun,” I murmur. “But I think there might be such a thing as too much pinot grigio, and that is what I’m suffering from today. Tabitha told me it was organic, like that made any difference at all.”

    Heughs and I draw back to nce at him, wondering if I might find any threads of uncertainty in his eyes.

    But I don’t. Not with Bash.

    It feels like we went from zero to a hundred in a matter of hours. But at the same time, it feels like we’ve been waiting for this, teasing it for months on end. It’s been the longest game of forey.

    We stare at each other for a few beats, not talking, just looking. Soon he pulls me up, dragging my mouth to his and kissing me firmly. Then he closes his eyes and settles back in with a parting shot of “It sucks to be you.”

    I bark out augh, watching him grin even as his eyes stay shut.

    And then I ease myself out of the bed realizing that in my drunkenness I’d stripped down bare—my favorite way to sleep. I bite down on a smile realizing that poor Bash had slept next to me all night and not tried a single thing. When I peek back over my shoulder, he’s watching me. His eyes race over my naked body, drinking me in like it’s the first andst time he’ll ever see me like this.

    There have been times in my life when I might have felt self-conscious in a moment like this, but with Bash, every insecurity evaporates. With Bash, all I see in his eyes is love. Or, well, not love but definitely admiration. And certainly affection.

    I turn back to him, giving him a view of both sides.

    “Hey, Bash,” I say, slowly stepping backward toward where his robe is hanging.

    He hums, staring ravenously at my breasts. His tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip as his lusty gaze travels down to my pussy. Memories of him on his knees in his closetst night pummel me, but I shake them off, knowing I have to stay in motion, or I’ll crawl back into bed with the beautiful man who is gawking at me like I’m his favorite treat.

    “My eyes,” I say, “they’re up here.”

    He grumbles, gaze flicking up to mine but only for a beat. “I know that.” He drops his gaze back down again. “I wasn’t trying to find your eyes.”

    I flush, heat suffusing every limb. I spot his T-shirt on the floor and turn to head in that direction. “You want this?” I ask, as I bend over to pick it up.

    “Fuck yeah,” he practically groans. And I know he’s not talking about the shirt at all.

    I straighten with a little arch in my back and then peek back to toss the tee at him. “Sucks to be you, then,” I reply with a saucy wink.

    He swipes the shirt off his face and grumbles something about how he’s going to have a boner all day long. And it makes me smile.

    With a warm hum in my chest, I force myself into action, feeling a little green around the gills as I shower, dress, and prepare myself for a day full of pretending to be more bnced than I am.

    When I make my way downstairs, Clyde is in the kitchen. He’s hunched over a bowl of cereal that he got for himself, and I realize he doesn’t need nearly as much help now as he did after surgery.

    The moment I step into the room, his eyes search mine. I know he won’t find any trace ofst night. I’ve showered, brushed my damp hair back into a tight french braid, and I’m wearing fresh clothes.

    Still, he looks me over and says, “About fucking time.”hr

    When Ie hometer that afternoon, I feel like a steaming pile of hot garbage.

    I held it together through four sses at the studio and smiled through it all, even though I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. When I greeted Rhys and Tabitha, who looked like they were in fairly rough shape, I pretended I was fine.

    But I was not fine. I was tired, grouchy, hungry, and wanted someone to rub my back. And I just generally was feeling a little overwhelmed.

    As soon as I walk in the front door, I kick my shoes off and trudge down the hallway toward the kitchen, figuring the first thing I should do is eat.

    But when I get there, the smell of something delicious hits me and I find Bash standing near the stove, chatting with Clyde.

    “Hi,” I announce before making my way to the fridge.

    “What are you doing?” Bash says. “Come sit down. I made you food.”

    For a moment, I freeze, hand wrapped around the handle of the fridge, then I turn to Bash. “You made me food?”

    He shrugs. “Yeah, it was no big deal. I was making something anyway.”

    At that, Clyde bursts outughing. “He was not making something else. He’s been nervous cooking since he got up. This man is so obsessed with you, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.”

    Bash scrubs a hand over his face as though he can hide from this conversation.

    Me? I’m downright amused. It’s helping my mood, so I urge Clyde on with a nod. And he willingly continues. “He made you cookies. He made banana bread—”

    “You bake?” I cut in, gaze catching on what looks like a tray of fresh cookies and a pan of banana bread.

    Bash rolls his eyes and turns back to the oven. “Clyde, shut up,” he says, stuffing his hands into oven mitts before he bends and pulls out what appears to be a casserole. The heavenly aroma makes my mouth water.

    “What is that?” I ask, eyes widening when I see the cheese-crusted top.

    He ces it on a cutting board. “This is the casserole my mom used to make me when I was hungover.”

    I scoff. “Me, hungover? No, I feel fabulous.”

    Both Clyde and Bash look back at me with doubtful expressions.

    But it’s Clyde who can’t keep himself from needling me. “That’s weird because you look like hell,” he announces.

    “Only because I’m tired of your shit,” I say quickly. But then my attention is back on the food. “Bash, tell me about this. What’s in it? I want it.”

    He tells me what’s in it as he dishes out generous servings for each of us—hash browns, yellow curry, cream, sour cream, butter, chicken, peas, and a lot of cheese.

    “I think that’s it,” he says, squinting as though he’s trying to recall. “I had to pull the recipe out from an old book, but it definitely brings back a lot of memories of my teenaged years and is still one of my favorites. It’s not fancy, but it’ll stick to your ribs.”

    I sit down next to Clyde as Bash slides the te toward me. I moan when I take the first bite. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.

    “Bash, this is amazing,” I announce.

    Clyde shovels mouthfuls in, nodding along. When Bash takes a seat, Clyde stares at him with a look of wonder on his face.

    “Damn,” he announces, jabbing his fork in Bash’s direction. “If she doesn’t marry you after this, I might.”

    He gets augh from me and a groan from Bash. And I have to admit that, for a guy who seems so confused about so many things, Clyde doesn’t miss a beat when ites to the two of us.

    Neither of us responds to the marriagement, though. We carry on, talking about our days. Turns out they were busy. First baking happened, then Clyde’s upational therapy at the hospital, grocery shopping and cleaning up after the partyst night, and then there was more baking and cooking.

    By the time we’re all caught up, I’m full, sleepy, and rmingly content. I jump up to put the dishes away and tidy, munching on the world’s best chocte chip cookie. As I devour it, I try not to make too many moaning noises, but they slip out anyway.

    Bash sidles up behind me under the guise of putting a te away in the cupboard above me. “If you keep moaning like that, I’m going to be stuck hanging around Clyde while trying to hide a massive boner,” he grits out under his breath.

    From behind us, Clyde announces, “Well, on that note, I think I’m going to go take a nap or read my new book or just lock myself away from you two.”

    I drop my chin to my chest, silentughter shaking my shoulders.

    “There’s no way he heard that,” Bash grumbles.

    I turn to face him, watching the tail end of Clyde disappearing down the hall. “He’s an acquired taste, but I don’t think I can imagine my life without him.”

    Bash’s expression turns thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, me neither,” he says quietly.

    Watching Clyde leave has a sense of longing surging up inside me. “I would kill for a nap,” I say.

    Bash tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Okay, take a nap.”

    “But I just got home. I feel like, I don’t know. Should we… hang out? I mean, we’ve kind of just fucked and partied after months of basically hiding from each other.”

    Bash scrubs a hand over his stubble. “Okay, well, take a nap on the couch. I’ll throw on some sports and we can just rx. Together.”

    My eyebrows raise on my forehead. “Like a normal couple?”

    Bash looks rather amused by the concept as he nods. “Yeah, like a normal couple.”

    We move into the living room, and I have to give myself an internal pep talk the entire way. We’ve had plenty of physical moments together, heated by passion, fueled by lust, tinged with alcohol. But now here we are, full bellies, dead sober, in a quiet living room.

    I take an awkward seat next to him on the couch, feeling like I’m in high school again, sitting next to a boy I like, unsure of how to act around him.

    He flicks the TV on and settles back into the cushions. His body rxed like this is the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over my shoulders, and it hits me that we have all this opportunity—now that we’ve both given in—and I feel paralyzed by the simplicity of it.

    “Gwen, stop overthinking this,” he says without turning to look at me.

    “I’m not overthinking this,” I say back.

    Now he turns, tongue popping into his cheek like he’s got something stuck in his teeth. “I can practically hear you thinking,” he says. “You wanted to take a nap. So rx, take a nap.”

    “Okay, I just… This feels very domestic,” I say, a flutter of nerves rearing up in me as I realize that the rtionships I’ve had didn’t prepare me for these moments. The quiet moments, the moments ofpanionship where you just revel in another person’spany without having to talk.

    And it’s like Bash can tell. He reads me so perfectly. It’s like he knows exactly what to say.

    “Okay, lie down and put your feet on myp.”

    “My feet? Do you have some weird fetish I need to know about?”

    “Gwen, give me your feet and stop talking.” He pats hisp. “Prop that pillow behind your head and take a nap while I watch sports. That’s how we’re going to enjoy each other’spany this afternoon.”

    I give him a few nods as I turn and lie back, arranging the pillow underneath my head in afortable position. “No funny stuff, Rousseau,” I tease as I extend my legs in his direction and wiggle my toes like an offering.

    He settles my feet in hisp with a smirk and flicks through the channels, eventuallynding on a baseball game. The hum of the TV fills the room, and I take a deep breath, feeling my body rx. For once, I’m not thinking. Just… here.

    After a few seconds, a thrill races through me because my feet aren’t just in Bash’sp. His big strong hands have wrapped around one of them almost absently, his fingers massaging, prodding, twisting.

    I smile and let out an appreciative moan, a subtle way of saying, Please, sir, may I have more?

    “For fuck’s sake, Gwen,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t stop rubbing my feet, even as the swell of his hardening dick contacts the heel of my foot.

    Unlike so many of the guys I’ve dated, though, he doesn’t pounce on the opportunity to make this moment about sex. Instead, he continues massaging my feet with surprising skill.

    He rubs them until I drift off from his soothing touch, allowing myself to enjoy being taken care of for the first time in a very, very long time.