He’s right. It’s not right. “I’m angry,” I admit. “More than I expected.”

“Why?”

“Because the house is nicer than I thought it would be.” I groan, leaning back against the headrest. “And that sounds stupid. But there it is.”

“You thought it’d be—what. Like the apartment?”

“Yeah. But it’s got flowers. Stupid, right?”

He shrugs. “No. It’s valid. You’re allowed to be angry at that.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks. I feel so much better now.”

“Stop being a jerk.”

I wince. “Sorry. It’s not—it’s weird. Being here.”

“I told you we don’t have to do this,” he reminds me. “We can hire someone else to come in and clean it out. She was renting, so it’s not like we need to worry about selling the house. We don’t need to go in.”

“I told Izzie we’d get her stuff.”

“Other people can do that, Bear.”

“We’re here, right? It’s—”

“I don’t want this to hurt you,” he says, and I can see he’s frustrated. “It’s like she’s getting to you still. Again. I don’t want that. She’s gone. She shouldn’t still be able to make you feel this way.”

“God,” I tell him. “It’s fucking stupid how much I love you.”

He chuckles, but he’s blushing a little. “Ditto.”

“Ditto,” I scoff at him. “That’s nice.”

His hand is on my knee, and he’s squeezing, and I really shouldn’t be thinking the thoughts I am.

“Go get the trailer,” I tell him, voice slightly strangled. “I’ll go in and see what’s there.”

“Uh-huh. Because that’s what you’ve got on your mind.”

“Stop it. We’ll have old-people sex later.”

“I wish you would stop calling it that,” he mutters. “We’re not old.”

“Says the forty-one-year-old.”

“Gonna spank your ass for that one later,” he promises darkly. “You’ll be singing a different tune then, I’m sure.”

I have to get out of the car before I do something dumb like demand he pull out his cock so I can blow him.

I push open the door and step out, the heat a little stifling. I grab my phone and dig through my laptop bag until I find the key Izzie had slipped me before we left. It feels like it’s burning the palm of my hand, and I shove it in my pocket. I close the door and walk around to the other side.

Otter rolls down his window. “I don’t like this.”

“Noted. But I need this. I think.”

“You call me,” he says, reaching out to wrap a hand around the back of my neck. He pulls me close, forehead pressing against mine. “You call me if you need me. I’ll come right back.”