The expression on his face is too much. I fall back against the couch, laughing until my eyes water.

The guys groan.

“You could’ve kept that to yourself,” Rooster says.

Ignoring everyone else, Z braces his hands against the back of the couch and leans down over me, staring into my eyes. “I thought you’d be mad,” he says in a low voice. “Maybe disgusted. I did not think you’d find it so funny.”

I reach up and press my palms to his cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss. “I’m not mad,” I whisper.

“Obviously.”

Maybe he’s miffed by my outburst? But come on. It’s ridiculous. Do I love thinking about Z with some porn star? Not at all. From what I remember, she’s gorgeous. Younger than me. Probably cellulite and stretchmark-free. Flexible.

Okay, that’s enough.

Whatever she and Z were doing before I moved back to New York wasn’t significant. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have dropped everything to be with me.

So, no, I’m not going to waste a lot of effort worrying about his ex.

The porn star.

I snort-giggle again and Z brushes his lips against my forehead.

“Guys,” Jigsaw says. “We don’t need visual proof of Z’s giant porn-sized dick. We’ll take your word for it.”

“Uncomfortable,” Rooster sings.

Without taking his eyes off me, Z shows them his middle finger.

“I never.” He meets my eyes again. “I didn’t make any films with her. You don’t have to worry about our kids being embarrassed in school one day or something.”

My heart squeezes. Porn star exes or not, this sweet, sweet man is too good to be true sometimes. “It wouldn’t matter to me if you did.” I lean up and kiss him again. “Are you with me now? Are you and your porn-sized dick one hundred percent mine? That’s all I care about.”

“You’re the only woman I want.” His mouth twitches. “I don’t know why since you enjoy poking fun at me so damn much.”

“I don’t care about her or anyone else you were with before. As long as you’re mine now.”

“Now.” He kisses my cheek, trailing down my neck. His rough hands skim up my legs. “And forever. Don’t forget that part,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

“Awww, are they couple goals or what?” Jigsaw shouts.

“If couple goals means absolutely nauseating, then yes,” Teller says.

Jigsaw snorts. “Look who’s talking. The one with the smoking hot redhead who comes down almost every weekend to fawn over him.”

Teller glares at him. “Her name is Charlotte, dickface. You know what? Never mind. Don’t ever look at my old lady again.”

“Hey, that’s an improvement.” Rooster reaches over and slaps Jigsaw on the back. “Usually he calls her ‘that chick who’s way out of Teller’s league.’”

“I call her that too,” Murphy adds.