“I’m happy,” he says, his smile broadening so wide I want to drag him into the bedroom. For a few seconds, I contemplate a quickie. Something in my eyes must give my thoughts away, because he sets the blender down and leans against the counter, as if he knows I’m bound to join him.

He’s right.

As I slink across the room, I catalog his appearance, taking special note of the wicked curve of his smile and the way the cut of his vest complements his lean frame.

This man is my partner. Pinch me, someone.

That warm, fuzzy feeling he was so averse to when we first met? It’s a constant in my life these days. He stirs it in me; I stir it in him.

“I’m making us smoothies to go,” he says, his expression wary as he watches me approach.

“I can see that,” I say, crowding his personal space. Unable to resist, I settle my thumb at the corner of his mouth and draw it across his lips.

He moans into my hand, his hazel eyes sparking with heat and promise. “Solange, we’re going to be late. And you’ll mess up my hair.”

I reach up to touch his carefully arranged locks, but he slaps my hand away.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice quivering dramatically. “It took me forever to get it to behave.”

I can’t help snorting. “Okay, you win. For now. When we get home tonight, though . . .”

His eyelids fall to half-mast, and he pulls me close. “Have I told you lately how much I enjoy hearing you call this your home?”

Pretending to think about his question, I tap my chin and study the ceiling. “Only every day since I moved in.”

I made the leap three months ago. Officially, that is. During the nine months prior to that, we basically spent every night together, either at his place or mine. But Vegas didn’t change just us. It changed Brandon too. When he returned to DC, he decided that it was finally time for him to move to New York and focus on his acting career. Dean and I inspired him, he says. He even signed with Julian Hart, a Black agent making a name for himself in Hollywood. I’m rooting for my friend to grab hold of his dreams and soar. And maybe one day he’ll find his person too.

So with Brandon gone, I needed another roommate—or another place to live. Dean offered both. And I’m so glad he did. Neither of us is perfect, but we don’t need to be. We’re us. A perfectly imperfect couple figuring life out together. All real. Absolutely no faking.

“Ready to head out?” he asks, his arms outstretched as he holds our smoothies.

I kiss him. Sweetly. Softly. “With you? Always.”

Dean