“Kara was happy. She has her own room this year.”

“I can’t stop eating this even though I’m full. Is there heroin in this? I get drug tested, you know.”

“No, just cheese. All you need is cheese.”

“True.” I forked the last bite of chicken and pushed it around my plate, scooping up the remaining sauce, then sat back as I chewed. Zeke and I were sitting the same way, belly out, legs apart.

Being full made us a little delirious, and once we started laughing about nothing in particular, we couldn’t stop. We laughed so much that tears began pouring down both of our faces. We drank our beers and a second, then cleaned up. We stood at the sink together, rinsing dishes and filling the dishwasher. It had been so long since I’d been domestic with another man. Again, the guilt seeped in, and again, I pushed it away.

Zeke squirted me with water. I slapped suds on his face. Once we finished with the dinner dishes, we had to sop up the water mess. But it was okay. It was better than okay, for the first time in years.

“Do you have a towel?” he asked, looking down at his soaked shirt. I held out my hand. “I’ll just toss it in the dryer.”

He pulled his shirt over his head with one hand, revealing every rise and fall beneath his skin. Fire season had thinned out the entire crew, but Zeke was solid muscle. All six of his abs protruded, and even the beginnings of two more in line with his navel. His pecks moved as he pulled off his shirt, his shoulders and arms flexing, not a stitch of fat on him. Two lines traveling in a V, dipping down past the waistband of his boxer briefs. His hotshot uniform was baggy, and because he’d lost weight, so were a lot of his clothes. I had no idea he looked like that underneath.

I pulled off my shirt on the way to the laundry room. The dryer creaked when I opened the door and rattled when I slammed it shut. The two shirts flopped around the drum, intertwining, climbing up, and then slamming together at the bottom, giving me erotic thoughts that refused to be replaced or pushed away.

“So you wanna watch a … oh. Sorry.” Zeke paused in the doorway and turned his back to me.

My ass was leaning against the dryer, my arms crossed as I fantasized about two drying shirts like a fucking weirdo.

I looked down at my unimpressive, nude-colored bra. It wasn’t even a push up. “Zeke,” I said. “I work around men all the time. We share a locker room. They’re just boobs.”

Zeke turned his face toward his left shoulder, but he still didn’t peek. “Your co-workers have seen you in a bra?”