“They’re nice pants,” she said, and her lips took on an impish curve.

He tilted his head, curious. “What’s that smile for?”

“I just think it’s cute you dressed up for a threesome.”

He shook his head, amused and unsurprised. “Is there anything y’all don’t talk about?”

“Not really.” She raised an expectant eyebrow. “So, how’d it go?”

He tucked his tongue in his cheek. “It went well.”

She snorted. “It went well? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“If Rebecca wants to share the details, she can. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Spoilsport,” she accused mildly.

“Fair warning—she knows you’re here. She’ll probably have as many questions for you as you’ll have for her.”

She grimaced. “They all will. I have to figure out what to tell them.”

“The truth usually works best.”

“I know,” she said, her shoulders hunching a little. “But I have to get a handle on it first.”

“They’ll wait until you’re ready,” he told her. “So will I.”

“Thanks, Cade.”

“Anytime,” he said, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. She looked so small and sad. “Want to watch a movie?”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll go to bed.”

“All right.” He shifted aside to let her pass. It was pure coincidence that he happened to take a deep breath just when she drew close, filling his lungs with her scent. Sweat and the faintly citrus scent of her shampoo, plus a whiff of the tuna she’d given the cat.

Not a seductive combination, but he was seduced all the same.

“Are you going to stay up?” she asked, one foot on the bottom stair, her hand on the newel post.

He knew wouldn’t sleep, not with her down the hall. “For a little while.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Good night,” he said, and tortured himself by watching her ass climb his stairs.

“Cade?”

He jerked his gaze to her face, the back of his neck heating. “Yeah?”

“Thanks again. For letting me stay. And for, you know, not asking questions.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he told her. “As for the questions, I will eventually ask.”

“I know.” Her smile was tight. “But I appreciate the stay of execution.”

It was an interesting choice of words, but he let it go. “Sleep well, fofa.”

“Night,” she replied softly, and disappeared up the stairs.

He waited until he heard the bedroom door shut, then went through his nightly routine. Checking doors and windows, the alarm, turning off the kitchen light. With the security light on the garage shining in through the kitchen windows, he opened the door to the basement and flipped on the lights. The fluorescents flickered on—he needed to find time to replace those with something less horrible—illuminating the corner of the unfinished basement he’d set up as a home gym.