I groan and palm my cock through my slacks. “Are you trying to kill me, Zo? I have zero blood flow in my brain right now, and it’s my best feature.”

“Your best feature?” she teases, acting dubious. I hold the straps of her bra out, sadly letting her put her breasts away in her bra and then shirt.

“Hey! You’ve seen my brain in action. Why do you think I invited you to trivia night if not to show off my mental flex?” I flex my biceps, showing them off a bit too because I’m a man who knows how to work my angles.

“I believe your exact words were to ‘save your ass’.”

“Yeah, maybe that backfired on me a bit because you did save us and probably think the rest of us are dumbasses.”

She leans forward, kissing the tip of my nose. “I wouldn’t go that far. We just all have areas of specialty.”

Now that’s exactly why I want her so much. Beauty, brains, and heart? Fuck me, she’s perfect. “Speaking of specialties, let me make us some dinner. You’re probably hungry after my last skill demonstration.”

I give her my eyebrow, daring her to disagree, and she laughs. “You cook?”

“Well, I’ll say yes because I figure if I heat it,” I say humbly as I take another step back to try and think of what there is to eat around here, “whether in the microwave, oven, or stovetop, I cooked it. If it’s edible, all the better.”

Zoey hops down, nodding. “Fair point.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” I say as I open the refrigerator door to show her the plastic bins of prepared food stacked inside. “Like I said, I heat it.”

“Are those frozen dinners?” she asks, aghast.

“I’ll have you know these are made by the finest chefs, specially designed to maximize my macros, and delivered to my front door so I don’t eat takeout crap. You feeling chicken and broccoli or chicken and green beans?”

“Is that really all you have?” Horror twists her lips.

“Gotta keep my shape or Trey leaves my ass behind,” I tell her, patting my flat stomach. After a moment, I drag out, “Fine, you can have my turkey and sweet potatoes, but know that I’m sacrificing a lot. Sweet potatoes are the one carb I eat regularly.”

“But you ate spaghetti?” she reminds me.

I give her a look that says she’s totally missing the point. “You think I would pass up a chance to eat dinner with you? I’d eat Jeff Probst-delivered caterpillars on wood bark if it meant eating with you.”

“Ew,” she says, her nose crinkled cutely. “Fine, chicken and green beans. I won’t take your sweet potato joy from you.”