Kylie waited as Joe pulled some things from his fridge. Then he took her by the hand and walked her outside and around to the other side of the duplex. Not ten minutes ago, she’d been naked on his floor with him, a big deal for her. Normally right about now she’d be running for the hills, needing some time alone to process and assimilate. And to distance herself.

So the fact that she was actually still here and preparing to meet Joe’s dad staggered her. “Won’t he think it’s odd that I’m with you at this time of night?” she asked.

“My dad doesn’t keep track of time unless I’m late or he needs something,” he said. And then he paused. “But there’s something you need to know about him. He’s . . . different.”

Kylie smiled. “And you’re not?”

“Smartass,” he said with an answering smile, but then he hesitated again. “Listen, if he says any weird stuff, just ignore it, okay? He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“What kind of weird stuff?”

“He’s not always 100 percent present,” he said. “He came home from the Gulf War with some injuries, not all of them physical.”

Her heart softened and she met his gaze. “And you and Molly take care of him.”

“Yeah. And he doesn’t like anyone else, ever, so don’t be insulted if he ignores you.” Joe knocked on the front door, four hard raps, then a pause, and then one more. “Dad?” he called out. “It’s me.” He unlocked three dead bolts and then knocked again in the same pattern as before as he opened the door. “Dad? You hear me?”

“Of course I do,” came an irritated male voice. “I’m not deaf.”

Joe didn’t step over the threshold. “And you’re also not armed, right?”

Kylie shot Joe a worried look. Armed?

Joe smiled reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t have any bullets right now.”

Oh good. That made her feel all better.

“But he likes to hold his gun,” Joe warned her softly. “Just ignore that too.”

Kylie nodded, thinking she was doing a most excellent job of hiding her nerves until Joe squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly.

“What’s taking you so damned long?” his dad yelled.

Joe stepped inside first, making sure Kylie was behind him. He took a quick look into the dark room and apparently saw something she couldn’t, because he sighed. “Dad, where are your pants?” He shifted, and then there was a click and a light came on.

The place was small and extremely neat, not a thing out of place. Well, except the man in the wheelchair in the doorway wearing only a wifebeater and boxer shorts.

Oh, and a rifle, which was lying across his knees.

In spite of his dark hair liberally streaked with gray and his equally dark eyes surrounded by a web of weathered wrinkles, Joe’s dad looked very much like Joe, and far younger than Kylie expected. The Gulf War had been nearly thirty years ago. She tried to do the math in her head, guessing that he had to be fiftyish.

“Pants are stupid,” he said.

“Yes,” Joe said. “And so is greeting visitors with a shotgun and no clothes and yet you do it. Put your gun away.”

Joe’s dad looked beyond Joe to Kylie. “Who’s that?”

Joe turned to Kylie. “This is—”

“Not you,” his dad said. “Her. I asked her.”

Kylie smiled at him. “My name’s Kylie Masters.”

“Huh,” he said. “I had a Masters in my platoon. Jeremy Masters. He was a class-A asshole. Is he your father?”

Joe shook his head. “Jesus, Dad—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kylie said to Joe, but kept looking at his dad. “My dad is a class-A asshole, Mr. Malone, but he wasn’t in the military. At least, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know for sure? How come?”

“Because he walked away when I was young and hasn’t always kept in touch.”

Joe’s dad stared at her and then nodded. “You can stay.” He turned to Joe. “What’s for dinner?”

“Nothing unless you’re going to be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

Joe snorted and passed him and went into the kitchen.

“Thinks he knows how to cook,” his dad said to Kylie.

“I do know how to cook!” Joe yelled from the kitchen.

Joe’s dad lifted his forefinger and thumb about an inch apart.

Joe stuck his head out of the kitchen. “How about you call for takeout if my food sucks so bad?”

“And he’s as sensitive as a girl,” his dad said.

“Boys are just as sensitive as girls,” Kylie said. “Maybe more so. So probably you meant to say he’s as sensitive as a boy.”

Joe’s dad paused and then tipped his head back and laughed out loud. “Son, you went and did it now,” he yelled. “This one’s going to give you a run for your money.”

Joe didn’t respond to this, but Kylie could hear him banging stuff around in the kitchen. She told herself it didn’t matter that he didn’t agree with his dad about her giving him a run for his money. Because what they did agree on was that this was merely a friendship and a working relationship with a bit of holy-cow sex on the side. Which was fine. Because maybe there were some feelings developing for him deep down, but since she had no idea what those feelings were exactly, or what to do with them, it didn’t matter.

But she couldn’t deny that a small part of her would’ve filled with warm fuzzies if Joe had agreed with his dad about her at all instead of radio silence.

His dad rolled himself past Kylie and checked all the front door locks. He checked each of them exactly four times, paused, and then checked them a fifth time.

The same pattern Joe had used to come inside.

Kylie watched this with a sudden lump in her throat, understanding now exactly how much Joe cared about his family. And—whether he realized it or not—just how big a capacity he had to love.

Joe’s dad finished at the front door and grunted in satisfaction before wheeling to the windows, checking each of those four times as well. And then a fifth. There was one window that was too high for him in his chair so Kylie crossed to it herself and checked the lock. She did it four times. Then paused and checked it a fifth time.

When she turned around, Joe’s dad nodded in satisfaction. “Yeah,” he said. “You’ll do.”

She looked up and found Joe watching them both, his expression unreadable. “Kitchen,” he said, and vanished.

She and his dad exchanged a look.

“He’s probably getting his period,” his dad said.

Something slammed in the kitchen and his dad grinned. “Yeah, definitely he’s getting his period. Maybe we should buy him some of that shit, what’s it called? Midol.”

There was another bang in the kitchen.

Joe’s dad laughed. “For such a tough guy, he’s an easy target.”

Kylie bit her inner cheek. “You’re messing with him.”

“Well, of course I am.”

“Why?” Kylie asked.

His dad shrugged. “I cheated on Joe and just finished a season of Pretty Little Liars without him. I’m bored.”

Joe stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, PLL was supposed to be our dirty little secret.”

Kylie was smiling. “You watch Pretty Little Liars?”

Joe scowled and vanished back into the kitchen.

“Told you,” his dad said, grinning at her. “He’s sensitive as a little . . . boy.”

“Food,” Joe yelled. “Come and get it or I’m eating it all myself.”

They entered the kitchen. Joe’s dad went straight to the sink and jabbed a finger at the stack of dirty pots and pans. “What’s that?”

“Dinner first,” Joe said. “I’ll do dishes after.”

“Around here, we always do dishes first.”

“Not tonight, Dad.”

“Since when?”

“Since it’s midnight and I’m tired and you’re being an asshole. On purpose.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the table. “Sit.”

“I’m already sitting,” his dad said, sounding irritated, but when Joe turned his back, the guy winked at Kylie, in that moment looking very much like his son.

Joe served pasta and sauce and a salad. Kylie smiled when she saw that the pasta was little noodles in the shape of the alphabet.

“Hey,” his dad said, poking at it. “This isn’t Chef Boyardee.”

“Nope,” Joe said.

His dad pushed away his bowl. “You know that I only eat my SpaghettiOs from a can. That’s how I like ’em.”

Joe pushed the bowl back at him. “We’ve been over this. The stuff in a can that you ate all through the eighties like it was going out of style has way too much sodium. Your doctor said you have to cut back. And it’d be a lot easier to feed you if you’d agree to eat something other than pasta.”

His dad picked up a fork. “You know what you are? You’re a pants-wearing, sodium-hating commie.”

Joe nodded. “Impressive. You managed to fling insults without using the F-bomb.”

“My PT and nurse both threatened to quit if I didn’t stop saying it,” he confessed. “They gave me a book on how to swear without swearing. I don’t give a shit what Nurse Ratched thinks, but my PT’s alright.”

“Well look at you, learning to be social,” Joe said.

His dad snorted, but still only poked at the food.

“Dad, just try it.”

“Fine.” He took a bite with exaggerated caution.

“Well?” Joe asked.

“Eh.” He chewed. Swallowed. Took another big bite. And then another. “It’s nothing you’d see on Iron Chef but it’s okay.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. Do you remember that time the power went out and in order to eat we had to heat cans over a fire pit we made in the backyard?”

His dad took another bite. “The power didn’t go out. It was turned off because those fuckers—er, I mean those effers didn’t tell me that my check had bounced. And since you couldn’t find a can opener, you used a battery-powered screw gun from the garage and poked holes in the can. And also in your own damn finger. Bled like a fire hose. It was so bad we couldn’t tell the difference between the sauce and the blood.”

“Needed stitches,” Joe said fondly, as if proud of this moment. “We used superglue, remember?”

“Hell yeah, I remember. We saved hundreds of dollars in ER bills.”

Kylie stared at the two of them laughing together over this rather horrifying memory. She was starting to realize just how much responsibility Joe had on a daily basis. How much responsibility he’d always had, starting from way too young an age, taking care of both his little sister and his dad.

She might not have had her parents, but she’d had her grandpa. He’d taken care of her, always. She’d never felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as surely as Joe had felt it. Still felt it.

When his dad’s bowl was empty, Joe nodded in approval and rose, collecting all the dishes, ruffling his dad’s short hair as he moved to the sink. It was a small thing, a quick little gesture, but it portrayed such love and acceptance that Kylie felt her throat go tight.

Joe’s cell buzzed an incoming text. He glanced at it and his expression went grim.

“What’s up?” his dad asked. “Work?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to go back in. We’ve got something going down tonight.”

“Kick ass,” his dad said.

Joe opened a drawer filled with prescriptions and pulled out a notepad to check the entries.

“I’ve been taking everything,” his dad said. “Jesus. I’m not a baby.”

“Taking them as in actually swallowing them,” Joe asked, “or taking them to flush them?”

“I don’t flush them anymore. They cost too fucking—er, effing much.”

Joe nodded, put the pad away, and looked at Kylie.

“Don’t worry about me. I told you, I’m a delight,” she said. “I can Uber home from here.”

“I’ll drop you off.”

She didn’t bother to argue with him as they left. She waited until they were in his truck and on the road. “Your dad’s pretty great,” she said.

Joe snorted.

“He is.”

Joe reached over and grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his mouth. “Thanks. You handled him well, so thanks for that too.”

“There was no handling anything. It was nice to meet him.”

He slid her a glance that she couldn’t read.

“What?” she asked.

“I told you, he doesn’t usually talk to anyone except people he knows and is comfortable with. But he talked to you. He liked you.”

“A lot of people like me,” Kylie said and made him laugh, which in turn warmed her because she felt like he needed the laugh, and also . . . it felt good that she’d given it to him.

The next day after work, Kylie walked into the pub and found some of the gang at the far right side of the bar, where they always hung out. Pru, Elle, Willa, and Molly. Kylie took the only empty barstool and paused when they all stared at her.

“What’s up?” she asked, looking down at herself. “Am I trailing tissue paper on my shoe or something?”

“Yeah, you’re right, Willa. She’s most definitely sleeping with him,” Pru said and slapped a ten down on the bar. “She’s got the postcoitus glow.”

Molly grimaced. “Come on, guys. I can’t take that bet.”

“I can,” Elle said and dropped her ten. “Kylie’s smiling with way too many teeth. Plus we all know Joe’s hot as hell. And those abs—”

“Hey,” Molly said. “My brother, remember? And anyway, it’s what’s on the inside that matters, not the outside.”

“Not in the beginning,” Elle said. “Be honest. It’s all about first visual impression and chemistry.”

Molly shook her head. “Not always.”

“Give me an example,” Elle said. “Even one example where in the first two seconds what’s on the inside is more important than the outside.”

“Uh . . .” Molly sighed and shook her head. “Dammit.”

“Refrigerator,” Sadie said as she came and sat down to join them.

Elle laughed. “Okay, I stand corrected.”

“You don’t get to talk,” Molly told her. “You’re with Archer, who looks at you like I look at fully loaded pizza. If a man looked at me like that, I wouldn’t worry about first impressions at all.”

While they went on to debate this, Willa turned to Kylie. “So are you?” she asked quietly. “Sleeping with him?”

“Technically? No.”

Willa grinned. “And untechnically?”

Kylie bit her lower lip and Willa laughed. “I knew it. How was it?”

Magic . . . “We’re not together like that,” she said. “We’re just friends.” Sort of. “It’s complicated.”

“Honey, why would you want to be just friends with a perfect male specimen like Joe?”

“He’s . . . not my type,” Kylie said. Lame.

“How is hot and sexy not your type?” Sadie wanted to know.

She turned around to find everyone listening. Great. “Well,” she said, brain whirling. “He’s pushy. And arrogant. And . . .” And smart. And sexy. And he liked to kiss everything, and she did mean everything. Which wasn’t exactly a fault . . .

Molly was watching her carefully and raised a brow.

Kylie swallowed hard and shook her head. “He’s bossy.” She tossed up her hands. “And okay, maybe just a little bit really hot and sexy.” She strained to think of more insults to cancel out the hot and sexy but realized that suddenly every one of her friends had gotten an identical funny look on their face. Crap. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he.”

“Yep,” Willa said cheerfully.

Kylie closed her eyes briefly before swiveling in her barstool.

Joe was indeed standing right there. “I wouldn’t say we’re just friends,” he told her.

“What would you say?” Willa wanted to know. “For the record.”

“For the record . . .” He wrapped his fingers around Kylie’s hand. “I’d say none of your business.”

Willa sighed as Joe tugged Kylie outside.