“To really paint the picture, you have to know the whole outfit was pink. It was like Pink Panther kink or ballerina BDSM,” Trey says. “By the way, welcome, Zoey. I’ve heard a lot about you. And by that, I mean daily analysis during morning workouts with this one.” He tilts his head toward me with a smirk. I’m not mad at being thrown under the bus, though. If anything, he’s pitching my case that I’m serious about Zoey for me.

The welcome is echoed around the table, and Zoey looks on, stunned. Absolute acceptance, that’s what these people offer. We all come from different walks of life, have different educations and knowledge, and work different jobs, but at the end of the day, we all accept that we’re trivia nerds.

That’s enough for us.

Zoey’s smile is surer as I pull a chair out for her and she sits down with my people. They could be her people too . . . if she wants. If she trusts that everything will be fine and she won’t shower some cursed rain on our lives just by hanging out with us.

I sit down too and lay an arm around the back of her chair, claiming her.

I lean over to whisper in her ear, “Did I tell you that you look beautiful?”

She smiles softly. “Maybe you did.”

But that light in her eyes says she knows good and well that I did.

But I’m happy to say it again and again because she does look gorgeous, especially in pajamas. And in scrubs or jeans, and most definitely in nothing, but that’s only been in my imagination so far.

“Did I tell you thank you for saving my ass tonight?”

“You definitely did not.”

“My mistake. Thank you, Miss Walker, for saving us in this most important battle.” I pitch my voice, mimicking a medieval knight and offering a formal bow of my head.

Zoey grins. “Battle? Not exactly the life or death emergency I thought I was walking into.”

“No, not life or death. Much more important than that. This was a battle for honor and bragging rights,” I declare, still sounding like Sir Lancelot. “Our very reputation as trivia nerds depended on you.”

“Well, I guess I’m glad I read that article about using genetic genealogy to narrow down suspects in unsolved case files.” Her lip quirks on the left, that tiny tell that means she thinks she’s said something off-putting.

“Do you know how sexy that sounds?”

“Unsolved case files?”

“No, that you read,” I tell her honestly. “I love a woman who reads—who wants to learn, understand, and experience things beyond whatever life offers. It’s sexy. Your mind is sexy.”