Lars pulls out some crackers and cheese slices and throws them both at me. “If you’re eating, you’re not talking.”

“Not true. I’m talented enough to do both. At the same time.”

“No one wants to see that.”

“I’m just saying that if you think this will shut me up, it won’t.”

He hums and starts unpacking the bags. “I’ll remember fudge next time.”

“I’m up for the challenge.”

I don’t notice the sound of the shower has stopped before St. Clare joins us, clutching a towel around his waist, wet hair slicked back and dripping onto his neck.

“Did you find clothes?” he asks Lars, and it’s lucky no one expects me to talk because shirtless is a good look for him.

He’s not as big as I’d originally imagined, and I adjust that image to mesh with the real deal. Soft lines and round pecs and broad shoulders at odds with his trim waist. The towel is slung seductively low, and neither of them pays it any attention as Lars hands over some clothes and St. Clare turns to get changed in another room. As he walks away, I clock a drip of water slipping down the groove of his spine, and I follow its path all the way to the swell of his ass, barely covered by the fluffy material.

A loaf of bread hits my face, and Lars’s laugh follows it.

“What was that for?”

“Looked like you needed to come back to Earth.”

St. Clare is gone—pity—so I turn my attention to Lars instead. “How do you know you’re straight?”

He moves into the kitchen and starts putting everything away. Maybe I should help him, but this is an important discussion, and concentrating on more than one thing at a time isn’t my strong suit.

“I have a best friend who’s gay, have never been all that concerned about labels, but when it comes to attraction, all I’ve ever been interested in is women.”

“Right. That’s … conclusive. But tell me: what if it’s only ever women, and then, occasionally, you’ll see a guy who gives big Dom vibes, and that sort of does it for you?”

He stares at me. “Wait. Wait, wait. Tell me … tell me you’re not talking about⁠—”

“Shhh!” I throw a look back down the hall. “Maybe not professional will-spank-you Dom … just … would respectfully tell me what to do and be super confident and good in bed type of …” The words I’m saying suddenly catch up to me. “You know what? Forget I said anything.”

“Wish I could.”

“This never happened.”

“Wish it didn’t.”

“Pass me that bottle of Coke, please? I’d like to start attempting to drown myself.”

He hands over the bottle, then crosses his arms on the counter. “Take it easy. We still need you.”