“Well, when you preface it like that.”

I glared at him. “I’m going to ignore that. Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”

He patted my shoulder as I sat in the seat. “Wouldn’t be that hard. You’re a lightweight, and word on the street is that you’re pretty much a sure bet.” He scooted my chair closer to the table.

“Damn right I am. You know what those jeans do to me. It’s like they’re my—wait a minute. That’s part of it too! You’re trying to seduce me!”

He walked back toward the stove. “And why do you sound so scandalized at the thought? In case you can’t remember, been there, done that.”

“Wow. Our entire sex life has just been reduced to been there, done that. That’s…. I don’t know what that is.” But it still didn’t stop a Bear and Otter Greatest Hits montage in my head. Add in the fact that Otter was a hell of a lot more flexible than he looked, and I had to keep my gaze from sliding unfocused while I drooled at him.

There was a salad bowl on the table filled with leafy greens and bright red tomatoes, which were probably expensive as fuck. Money tended not to be an issue anymore, not with how much Otter made from his contracts (teaching teenagers, shockingly, wasn’t the moneymaker I was led to believe), but there was still that little tug at the back of my mind, that little itch that reminded me how bad it used to be. How there’d be days when there was only enough food left for Ty or me, not both of us. That was toward the beginning, when I still hadn’t quite figured out how to ask for help, when I was angry and defensive, sure I could handle this on my own. Wanting to prove I could handle it on my own. I’d made sure the Kid had milk and cereal for breakfast, and he’d get to eat free lunch at school, because he’d already been in a program. Then he’d come home and he was six years old, and he wouldn’t even say a damn word at the forty-nine-cent cup of noodles for dinner again, and I’d sit next to him, making sure he ate it all. He’d ask me where mine was, and I’d shake my head and say I’d eaten already. He’d frown and then hold out the fork, broth dripping onto the chipped Formica, telling me he thought it tasted funny and that I needed to check to make sure it wasn’t poisoned so he didn’t die. Neither of us was fooled, but I always checked. Sometimes I’d pretend to choke and gasp, head lolling down onto the table, and he’d shriek with laughter, tears in his eyes, little hands tugging on my hair, saying, Bear, Bear, Bear, stop it, just stop it, and I’d—

“Bear?”