He’s broader than me, I realize not for the first time. Not by much. Where I’ve got more of a lean build, he’s toned like a swimmer with wide-set shoulders and a tapered waist. Just enough bulk to be appealing, rather than—

Nope. No no no no no. Enough!

Fucking Christ. This is what you get for waking up after three hours of sleep, I tell myself bitterly. Waxing poetic about naked men like some kind of—

I slam my eyes shut. The warped voice in my head lingers, and I feel a twinge of bile rise in my throat.

A memory tries to crawl forward—one I’ve spent years knocking down, down, down until it was no longer recognizable. Where it could no longer touch me. I’m not that person. I am not him. I never will be.

I’d rather die.

Shaking my head, I focus instead on how Will’s hands grip the carton of half and half and watch as he pours some into his coffee.

And then some more.

I don’t even realize I’m making a face until he’s turned around and resting his ass against the granite counter. A brow arches. “Problem?”

I shrug. “Just observing your gross coffee habits.” I blow some more on my coffee and take another small sip.

When I set it down on the counter, Will cranes his neck forward. “Black?”

“Sugar.”

“Yes?”

I frown and he bats his eyes, hiding his smirk behind Mason’s blue Captain America mug.

“Funny,” I deadpan.

“I thought so.” And then he’s straightening up and stepping toward the counter. Now the only thing that separates me from all that bare, gold perfection is a measly block of wood and granite.

At least he’s wearing pants, I grouse bitterly to myself, trying desperately not to stare at his nipples, which are now at eye-level...

Just drink your coffee.

This time, when I go to set my mug down, Will’s hand is suddenly there, batting my fingers out of the way as he takes it from me.

“Hey!” Mouth gaping in outrage, I watch as he lifts the mug to his lips.

His throat bobs with a rough swallow and his lip curls into a grimace. “Man, that’s just foul.”

I stare at him. This is the second time in less than twenty-four hours he’s just helped himself to my drink like it’s nothing. Who the fuck is this guy?

“What the hell did you do? Pour a whole cup of sugar in there?” He sets the mug back down in front of me before guzzling down nearly half of his own mug to wash away mine. “I guess it’s good to know some things don’t change.”

“What?” I ask quietly. Too quiet.

“God, you used to eat sugar packets by the handful. You must have been a dentist’s worst nightmare,” he goes on, chuckling.