“Oh. Fire. That’s a good idea.” Zoey walks up beside me, holding her hands out to the flames, humming happily as the heat plays over her skin.

She’s beautiful, standing above me, firelight bringing out the gold in her chestnut hair.

“I’m going to feed Bruce. Are you hungry?”

I’m on the verge of making a joke about werewolves and dog food when I catch myself, choking on the words and coughing as I do.

Can’t believe I almost let my secret slip. Just because I’m comfortable around Zoey does not mean she’s ready for that. For all of me.

As I clear my throat, she pats my back, firmly at first, all business, but then she slows. Her hand lingers on the bare skin between my shoulder blades. As if she likes how I feel. I stifle a groan and stop myself from leaning over to bury my face in her stomach. Her scent, which only teases my nose at the moment, would be strong there. One of her warm spots.

Zoey snatches her hand away and retreats to the kitchen. A second later, the clatter of kibble hitting a metal bowl sounds, followed quickly by the heavy padding of Bruce’s feet on the hardwood.

“I’m going to make myself a grilled cheese. Do you want one?” she asks.

I straighten from my crouch, making sure to clutch my towel as I do. “Yes, please.”

My heart pounds faster, but I command it to calm down. It’s just a grilled cheese. She has no idea what other meanings I might find in her offer.

Zoey wields a large cast iron skillet, arranging it on the stovetop. “What is your preferred cheese?”

My brain stutters over the question. “My preferred cheese?”

“Yes. Your preferred cheese. The cheese that you prefer.” She opens the fridge, bending at the waist in a distracting display of her round bottom.

“I don’t know. You mean, like my favorite cheese?”

“If you want to play around with synonyms, sure. What’s your favorite cheese?”

Shit, I don’t think I have a favorite cheese either.

Then, she stands, turning to stare at me like this question means something.

I panic. “Um … yellow?”

Zoey’s eyebrows pull down, disbelief staining her face. “Yellow?” Her bare feet are silent on the wood floor as she steps toward me. “Did you just tell me your favorite cheese is yellow cheese?”

“Yes?” I offer my most hopeful smile and pray that she moves on to a topic I’m more familiar with.

Want to know my favorite meat? Pulled pork. Favorite beer? Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Favorite dessert? Roderick’s rhubarb pie. Favorite smell? Wet Zoey.

Mmmm … wet Zoey.

As my mind threatens to go to dirty places, the sexy human can’t get past my mental block on dairy products.

“Warner, can you name five different types of cheeses?”