“Yeah, if you’re on his good side. I have a government job, you know.”

I made a face. “Are you afraid of Peter?”

“Nope. I’ve got you to keep him in line. Looks like you can handle him pretty well.”

“I can.”

“He looked like hell.”

“His wife left him.”

“Damn,” Zeke said, lost in thought for a moment. “My worst nightmare.”

“That’s sort of weird since you’re not married.”

“Not yet. I’ve been left. It sucks. I feel for the guy.”

“Well that can happen if you’re pursuing an old girlfriend while married.”

He pointed at me. “You? He’s pursuing you?” My non-answer told him what he needed to know, and his cheeks flushed. “This changes things.”

“Again, he’s harmless.”

A deep line formed between Zeke’s brows. “He’s about to be single, and it looks like being married was just a speed bump for him when it came to you. So are there still feelings?”

I stifled a laugh. Jealous Zeke was adorable. “I have absolutely zero interest.”

“You just evaded.”

I shifted, uncomfortable. I’d forgotten about this part, being accountable to someone else. “Peter was my first everything.”

“So you loved him.”

“Past tense. My feelings for him are strictly platonic, and most of the time he pisses me off, so…”

“Guys like that don’t care,” Zeke said, unhappy.

“Are you projecting your previous experience? Because I’m not her.”

Zeke turned to look at me, his mouth open. “That’s not what I was saying. If that’s really how it sounded, I deeply apologize.”

I hugged him to me then pecked his lips. “I promise, Peter is not a problem.”

***

Zeke padded around in his bare feet, wearing my robe as he brought me a cup of coffee in bed. Music was playing in the kitchen, something old but catchy. Perfect morning music that mirrored Zeke’s mood.

I sat up, taking the steaming mug from him. “Wow. Thank you,” I said, taking a careful sip. Zeke climbed onto his side of the bed and sat legs crossed, drinking from the only other mug I had. He looked content, his eyes still heavy from staying up late fucking my brains out, then waking up just a few hours later to take a quick shower.

“Your robe is very fetching,” I said in a horrible British accent.

He looked down. “It’s cold this morning. I work with what I have.”

I thought about that then sat up higher, shrugging. “What if… I mean, if you want … what if you kept a drawer here? And maybe a hanger or two.”

He smiled. “What does that mean?”

“You know … toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream, a robe—personal items you need that I don’t have here. I’m assuming it’s not the last time you’ll stay. I mean, if you don’t mind having two of that stuff.”

His smile widened. “Not at all.”