I rolled the other way, got off the bed, snatched up my panties, and headed to his bathroom.

The good news was, his bathroom was clean, though he could use new towels since he clearly bought his in the same year he bought his pickup and his furniture. Not to mention, the bathroom had been installed before The Brady Bunch was in reruns.

Still, it wasn’t icky, which was what I decided to focus on.

I did my thing, slid on my panties, and bent over the basin to look at myself in the mirror.

Hair wild, face flushed, lips swollen, nipples still hard against the silk, I stared and for the first time in my entire life, taking in my reflection, I thought I might be a little bit of all right.

Then I grinned, turned out the light, and walked back into the bedroom.

Brock was leaning across the bed and turning off the light at my side. As I joined him, he was faced the other way and turning off the light at his.

When he was done, he reached out to me, gathered me in his arms, pulled my front close to his, tangled his long legs with mine, and his arm slanted up my back so his hand was in my hair, pulled me deeper as he pushed my face against his chest.

I turned it so I was resting my cheek there and slid an arm around his waist.

“Thanks for dinner,” I whispered against his chest.

“Best part about it was dessert,” he whispered back and I smiled.

Then I sighed.

Then I told him, “I like your family.”

His fingers tensed against my scalp before he murmured, “Good.”

It was then, keeping it real, which was the only way I knew how to do it, I shared, “Just FYI, and I’ll preface this by saying this is not an act of a psycho woman invading your life but a rescue effort, I’m buying you new towels and, uh… new dishtowels as a priority-one mission.”

His voice held a smile when he asked, “A rescue effort?”

“Someone needs to put yours out of their misery.”

There was a short, deep chuckle I not only heard but also felt before. “Sweetness, I got an ex who cleaned me out seven years ago, a job that means I’m rarely home and this includes me bein’ under deep cover on an assignment that lasted a year and a half, a year of that where I had zero contact with family, even my kids, and I got two boys who are at an age they don’t give a shit about anything but the fact the TV works and food is in the fridge. Considering they’re boys, they’ll probably never be at an age where they give a shit about anything but TV and food. Towels are not a priority and dishtowels are definitely not a priority.”