I reached over to Lane’s side of the bed and squeezed. But her ass wasn’t there. In fact, none of her was there.

“Damn it, woman,” I grumbled. At least I could smell coffee. That almost got her off the hook.

Wait a second. When my eyes popped open, I saw the puffy, light blue blanket, the over-fluffed pillows, and a dainty dresser with little swirls engraved into the whitewashed wood.

Oh crap, I was still in Kansas. Or the Southern California equivalent of it, at least. The only things not nauseatingly homey were a few pieces of Lane’s artwork hanging on the walls. She’d told me once that she hadn’t painted since high school. And, while I’d never say it out loud, at least while I was sober, there was a good reason for that. My woman was a great artist, but her talents with manipulating and cutting wood into different shapes and putting varnishes on them hadn’t translated into painting. Unless she’d done the walls—nice lines, no smudges.

When I rolled onto my back, the edge of the fairytale book I’d fallen asleep reading last night poked me. All those portrayals of helpless women waiting around for a prince to show up was the best sleep aid I’d ever tried. No wonder mothers read them to kids before bed. Not my mother, but I was pretty sure all the others did.

How ironic that the cover of all those happy endings was currently poking my end. I pulled the children’s book out from under my ass, hoping I hadn’t just blown any good karma I’d accumulated in the past year with Lane. I really needed to keep track of that stuff better.

With my eyes mostly open, I climbed out of bed and went to look for her. She wasn’t in her room, so I wandered down the hallway toward the smell of coffee. The art in the hall was a lot better. Nothing like the cold, impressionistic crap hanging on the walls of my childhood hell. This stuff had heart—lots of landscapes that didn’t exist in California, flowers that didn’t grow here. All signed with the same squiggle. If I’d had caffeine in my system, I might have been able to identify it.

I’d never actually cared about art before meeting Lane, but ever since she moved into my place, I’d been forced to learn about it. Our place was littered with big picture books and biographies of artists. Again, didn’t really care, but human beings are capable of all sorts of odd behavior when their significant other is watching reality television.

The voices got louder as I neared the kitchen. I considered stopping and listening to what they were saying, but if it was anything about me, I was better off not knowing. I pushed open the door and saw Lane sitting at the small table and her mom at the stove, laying strips of bacon into a cast iron pan. Is there anything better than the sound of that sizzle and the smell of fresh coffee? Besides the sound of Lane when she comes and the scent of great sex, obviously. Ain’t nothing better than that.

“Morning,” I managed, rubbing my eyes and blinking.

“Good morning,” her mom said, turning around to face me. That’s when her expression changed, her eyes lowered, and I heard Lane gasp.

“Carson?” Lane asked somewhat calmly. “Where are your pants?”

Oh, shit. I used both hands to cover my crotch and then looked down at myself.

Could’ve been worse, but not by a lot. At home, I slept naked and never put anything on until after my first cup of coffee and a hot shower. I think we were all pretty relieved I’d opted to at least keep my boxer briefs on last night.

I’d decided it would’ve been weird to roll around in someone else’s bed with my junk out. Turned out, it was also pretty damn weird to wander around someone else’s house in my underwear.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, backing out of the room.

“He’s not a morning person. I’ll be right back.” Lane followed me to my room, shutting the door almost all the way. When I noticed it, she explained, “I’m not allowed to close the door if a guy is over. So they can hear what’s going on.”

“Damn, I never would’ve guessed Bill and Jane were into that kind of thing.”

“Eww.” She sighed. “It’s so they know I’m not doing anything, perv.” She tossed me a pair of pants. “Just be glad my dad’s not home. He would’ve flipped.”

“Because your mom was staring at my package?” I smirked.

“She was not!”

“Oh yeah she was. Couldn’t take her eyes off me. Don’t worry—I think she approves.”

“Gross. This is going to be the longest two days of my life. Can you please at least pretend to be normal?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “If I knew how.”

“Okay, we should’ve set some ground rules. Better late than after my dad sees you half naked.” She made my bed as she spoke. “Pants are to be worn at all times. Sex should never be mentioned, not even as a joke.”

When she bent over to fluff a pillow or something, I came up behind her, pressing my cock to her ass.

“Careful! It still hurts a little. Plus, look but don’t touch, remember? In fact, don’t even look while my parents are around.” She pushed me back, holding a pillow between us. “And no groping.”

“Rules suck.”

“I’m serious, Carson.”

“Fine. Can I at least kiss you good morning?”

“No tongue.”

I wasn’t sure I could kiss her without tongue. “Can we go home now?”

“This was your idea, remember? So, no. You can handle two and a half days of celibacy.

“Yeah, but not by choice,” I whined. Obviously I’d survived periodic dry patches. Just not since I met her. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. Treat you like you’re my sister. Except not like Anna, more like a stepsister I want to get naked and sweaty with.” I made my eyebrows bounce up and down. “What do you say, sis? Wanna get all taboo with me?”

She smacked me playfully and ran for the door. “Come on, bro. Let’s get you some coffee. My dad wants to take you fishing tonight.”

“Fishing? Is that a euphemism for killing me and dumping my lifeless body into the ocean?”

“I wish.” Her laugh echoed through the hallway as we headed back to the kitchen.