There’s a hint of heat on that last bit as he drags the word out low and slow, letting me hear that eyebrow lift of his in his tone.

Oh, shit, did he think I was trying to take this back to a booty call-slash-phone sex situation? I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not.

“I didn’t mean . . . like for sexy talk. I was trying to picture you and Chunky. What color is he?”

“Actually,” Blake says easily, “he’s pretty peanut butter-colored too. It’s a running theme with this guy.” He pauses to give the dog some smacking kisses, making me smile and wish he were kissing me like that. Sweet, quick, noisy kisses, probably on my forehead. I mean, Chunky’s forehead. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

“Oh, uh . . . just an old T-shirt. I was wrapped up in a blanket, watching television when you called.”

“What’re you watching?”

“Survivor. They’re doing an obstacle course, jumping over these big sand castle things, running down the beach, and swimming around a buoy out in the water.”

“Sounds exciting,” Blake says around a quiet yawn. “Who’s your favorite contestant?”

I tell him about the young woman who’s playing a killer game, acting helpless and uber-friendly, but in the candid interviews she’s actually really good at reading people and playing to who they expect her to be while building alliances.

“Are you asleep?” I ask suddenly, realizing that he’s humming along with me while I extoll the virtues of a television contestant.

“What? No!” he says. Instead of snappy, it’s fuzzy around the edges.

“You are practically snoring in my ear.”

Blake lets off a roof-rattling fake snore. “You’d know it if I were snoring in your ear.”

The assurance makes me laugh.

“Sorry,” he explains more, “I was up early this morning to run and it might be catching up to me. The spirit is willing and happy to talk to you all night, but my eyeballs seem to have other plans.”

“You run?” I ask, and then answer for myself, “of course, you do.”

“With my friend, I thought I mentioned him. Anyway, he kicked my ass this morning, told me to stop pussing out and call you.”

I don’t think Blake has been weak a single day in his life, but I like that he didn’t take calling me too casually. That someone like him had a bit of nerves about someone like me makes my insides fizzy.

“Well, just know that if you ever see me running, it’s because zombies are chasing me. And I will trip you. I don’t have to be the fastest, just not the slowest. I will drop you like the ‘Drop Dead’ moniker suggests.”

Oh, my God, did I just make a joke about that? Horror blooms, but when Blake chuckles, I realize that maybe it’s okay. Maybe I’m okay. A little.