“I’m going to make a production of it as cover. Then the only thing people will be talking about is little old hellion me. Not Zoey, for a change. But you need to be gone well before sunrise,” he warns. “Thelma and Louise get started on coffee around six, and by eight, they’ll have added a ‘wee dash of warmth’ to it.” He tips an imaginary bottle into his hand and then upends it, mimicking one for the cup and one for the gut. “Whisky.”

“I got the hint. Thanks for the tip.”

“Ready?” he asks, shooting me two thumbs up.

Before I can answer, he stomps to the front door and pushes the screen open so it creaks loudly, then slams the wood door closed behind him. Outside, I hear him yell, “Angelo, I’m gonna whip your skinny ass, man. You left me alone in the Steamy Swamp while running off like a fucking newb for what? To go fishing for a purple SMG!”

He keeps shouting as he gets further away, and I hear someone else grumpily tell him, “Jacob, shut the hell up!”

I smile because his plan seems to have worked. Maybe a little too well because I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl just in time to see Zoey’s face go from ‘I’m going to murder that boy’ to ‘what the hell’ to ‘oh!’

“Blake?” She rubs at her eyes disbelievingly and then realizes what she has on. More importantly, what she doesn’t have on . . . pants. Her sleep shirt barely reaches the tops of her thighs and her feet are covered in slouchy socks.

No ice-cold toes, I think, even though I’d happily warm her up from head to toe right now. Fuck, I’ve missed her. Texting here and there through Jacob hasn’t been nearly enough.

Not for me.

I want to see her expressions as she tells me about her day, gross as it might be. I want to hear the things she’s learned, no matter how silly or obscure, because I’m fascinated by what she finds interesting. I want to lick her pulse at her neck when it skyrockets as I touch her body and give her pleasure.

But she’s pulling at her shirt uncomfortably.

“Hey, Zo.” I keep my voice even and calm, holding my hands out as though she might attack me.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers snappishly. “This is totally against the rules!”

The reminder probably seems warranted, but I’m beyond caring at this point. For her, I truly have become a rebel who will throw caution to the wind and break rules if they don’t suit me.

I cross the room in three strides, backing her up against the wood-paneled wall. “I missed you.” And then, just in case she’s had any backslide and gotten unsure about us, I remind her why everything about us works with a kiss.