As I couldn’t stand wearing underwear more than once, I had to go home eventually. Panties and work performance were the deciding factors.

I figured that my contributions to the safe sex PSA might not be taken seriously if I came to work in the same clothes two days in a row, appearing like I was doing the walk of shame. My internship was nearly at an end, and if I couldn’t leverage it into an entry-level job, I would have to look elsewhere. I wanted to stay in Nath—New York. I wanted to stay in New York.

Mom decided that Benny had been in the doghouse enough. So she allowed him to “enlighten” her room, and I headed back to Nathan’s. Hotel security’s concern over her husband’s long hours in the bar probably had something to do with their kissy-face reunion.

I thought about texting Nathan to let him know I was going home, but I wasn’t sure what kind of welcome I’d get. Benny said that he’d been in a shitty mood in the bar, but it was debatable how much was due to me or just a reflection of his relationship with his son.

It was just after seven in the morning when I snuck in the door, but stealth probably wasn’t necessary. It was too quiet in the apartment for Nathan to be awake, and when asleep he was practically comatose. I toed off my shoes and put down my purse by the door, and padded over to the bedroom.

The morning light sliced through the blinds on the window, leaving shadows on the bed like prison bars. My heart stuttered when I saw him sleeping. Somehow, in his subconscious, he’d stayed on “his” side of the bed. He’d pulled the covers up to his neck, his tanned face and brown hair standing out against the fluffy white quilt like he was a marshmallow toasted too long on one side.

I wanted to snuggle up next to him, but I felt a fight or flight response coming on.

Maybe he was right, and I was the one who was scared of having a real, adult relationship—because despite the occasional tantrum, Nathan had been a grown-up a good ten years longer than I had. Did I resent him for that? I wondered. There were times when his authoritarian side was a real turn-on, but then there were times I probably acted like a passive-aggressive brat—and not in a sexy way.

He shifted in his sleep, turning away from me to face the window. I let out a quiet sigh, not sure if I was relieved or sad he hadn’t woken up. More than anything in the world at that moment, I wanted to see those vivid green eyes on me, crinkled at the edges in a wicked smile.

Fight was winning out over flight in my evolutionary biology. I was going to fight for him, and I’d start by fighting dirty.

I wondered if he’d mind if I crawled under the covers and woke him in a more intimate fashion. Who was I kidding? What man would turn down a morning blowjob?

That’s it. I was going to do it. I began shucking my clothes, imagining the look on his face when I took his big, gorgeous cock in my mouth. My panties were getting damp just thinking about it—his eyes opening to satisfied slits, a moan drifting out of his mouth, his hot, silky skin under my lips and tongue.

I would insinuate myself between his legs, nudging his knees open as I lay between his thighs. My hands would slide up his quads, my thumbs caressing the muscular grooves of his groin before touching the dark hairs surrounding his erection.

And he would have morning wood—I was almost certain of it. Experience, education, and reading too many romances filled me with confidence that his cock would be hot, hard, and musky from sleep.

I licked my lips, almost able to taste the bitter salt of his pre-cum. I couldn’t wait to feel him bob against my chin as I approached, rising reflexively like a dowsing stick searching for a fountain of youth.

Wait a second. Was I the fountain of youth in that metaphor? Ick. I shook my head, my breathing heavy and my nipples tender and tingling with excitement. I stepped over my discarded clothes to the end of the bed. I was ready, so ready for him.

There was only one thing stopping me—my suitcase. It was standing sentry at the end of the bed, zipped and ready to go. I went cold all over.

Oh my god. Was he moving me out?

My choppy breathing turned to gasps of heart-squeezing panic. I wrapped my arms around my naked body, my knees bumping against my suitcase. This time when he stirred, he woke.

“Hey.” His smile was warm and slow when he saw me, as though he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re home.” The husky, sleepy recognition in his voice made me quiver, gulping back tears.

“Am I?” I asked. He frowned, unsure of this part of the dream. “Why is my suitcase out? Are you kicking me out?”

“What are you talking about? Wait, are you naked?” His eyes opened a little wider, his body waking up just a little bit more.

I shivered with nerves and cold, little bumps rising on my skin like sandpaper. Hugging myself didn’t do a damn bit of good, so I swallowed my pride and dove onto the bed. It wasn’t the sexy wake-up call I’d planned.

Nathan reached for me, pulling me to him underneath the duvet. “Fuck, you’re freezing!”

I lay in his arms, stiff as a mannequin, as he tried to smother me with the blanket and his warm skin. It would almost be easier if I held my breath, if I didn’t inhale the drowsy pheromones threatening my heart.

“The suitcase,” I prompted.

“What? Oh, yeah. Right.” He dropped a kiss on the cold tip of my nose and hopped out of bed, mumbling something about turning down the air conditioning.

I’d been right about the morning wood. It jutted out through the thin cotton of his sleep pants.

He went into the stumble-in closet and turned on the light. Standing in the doorway of the closet, a halo of light around him, he beckoned me. My eyes were still adjusting to the sudden illumination, but I knew he was nowhere near my suitcase.

What was he doing? Did he want to show me where my clothes were no longer hanging? Perhaps if I stayed in the cocoon of the bed, I’d metamorphose into a woman whose heart wasn’t breaking.

“Zoe, c’mere!” His eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown at my reticence. He reached under the covers and grabbed my foot. It was not the best time for him to discover that I was wildly ticklish.

“Gah!” My leg shot out, my heel connecting with his knee.

Nathan buckled on to the bed, rubbing his thigh. “Fuck!” His glare sent me over the edge, and I burst into tears. My outburst probably surprised him more than the ninja moves. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, gingerly reaching for my hand. When his fingers curled around mine, I held on tight.

“Are you kicking me out?”

“What? Where did that come from?”

I gave the suitcase at the foot of the bed a pointed look.

“Jesus, Zoe, no!” He shook his head as I sniffled. “Look.” Pulling me off the bed, he marched me into the closet. My back was nestled into his chest, his arms around my waist and his hands overlapping like a buckle over my bellybutton.

My clothes were still there. I didn’t get it. “I don’t get it.”

Behind me, he extended one arm and lifted mine along with his to point downwards. “I got you a new shoe rack.”

On an adjustable rack similar to the ones housing his stupid fancy shoes, all the kicks I brought to New York were lined up. Even my flip flops, the ones which melted and stuck to the hot summer pavement, were perfectly squared and balanced.

I started crying harder.

“Holy mother of fuck, woman,” Nathan muttered. He rested his chin on my head, as though he could soothe me through downward pressure and the sheer force of his will. Surely it had worked in other situations, but not this one.

By now my tears were falling off my face and splashing onto his forearms where he hugged me. I swiped at my face, beyond embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s really… nice.”

“Nice?” He leaned over, moving his chin to my shoulder as we both looked down at the miracle of shoe storage. “I was at least hoping for a thank you blowjob,” he joked.

My lip wobbled. Yeah, I could probably manage that—once my congestion from this stupid crying jag cleared up.

“Now I know I love you,” he sighed.

“What? Why?”

“Even your ugly crying face is beautiful.”

Sniff. “You can stop. You’ll be getting the blowjob.”