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“Okay.”

I shower first while Enzo strips out of his clothes and lies down, and after I dry off, I put on his shirt again. This is the first time we’ve gone to bed without sex since he went through the initial withdrawal and detox, and I drift to sleep in the safety net his arms offer.

And when I wake, the room is lit with the airy morning sun, and Enzo is lying on his back a few inches from me. I stretch my limbs, feeling blood surge through them after being still all night and glance over at Enzo. He must’ve gotten hot as only a sheet is covering his legs and hips.

A weight has been lifted from my shoulders now that Enzo knows the truth about my upbringing. It was long overdue to share what I had endured. And we’re okay because his intention wasn’t pain—it never would be.

But is he right that I have a way of making things okay to avoid bigger issues?

I scan his face again. He meant nothing offensive by that, but it hits me I might have done that with my ex, too. He’d never acknowledge it if I did, but Enzo brought it up because, well, he’s the grown-ass man I needed. And we’ve both been through the wringer and need to feel good.

I smile and slip my hand under the sheet to grip him. He’s soft, but if I squeeze him and run my hand over his length, he’ll wake up to a happy surprise. I continue to graze over his shaft, being mindful of his piercings, and his cock wakes up before he does. I gently grab his balls and give them a slight tug—something he likes.

That does it.

His eyes flare open, and he lifts his head off his pillow to see what I’m doing.

“Morning,” I whisper.

“Morning,” he replies. I move over him, swinging my leg over his hips to straddle his lap. “Are you sure?” His hands bunch the cotton fabric of the band tee at my waist, and his touch warms my hips.

“I want you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Enzo

Tilly left her iPod at my house when she left this morning.

She could have picked it up the next time she was over, but with a rare slow day, I can dip out mid-morning to drop it off at her house. It’s a good enough excuse to check on her as a surprise and make sure she’s okay after Saturday night’s incident. And if her dad’s there, he’ll see how intimidating his future son-in-law can be because I’m going to marry that girl someday.

If he does anything to her, I’m giving it right back to him.

I remind myself to unclench my jaw and relax my shoulders. My mind is clearer than it was a couple of weeks ago, and if anything, my focus on her has intensified tenfold—either from being sober or from what she told me.

I grab her iPod with the wired earbuds attached and gently shove it in my jeans pocket. Locking my computer, I stand from my desk and push in my office chair.

“I need to run an errand,” I tell Ally as I pass by. I notice her nod but continue down the office hall before she can respond.

Pressing through the office’s main door, the summer sun is in full force, and I wish I could hit the pool with Tilly on a day like this. But someone has to run the show, and I’ll make time on my calendar to do that with her again soon. Or put a damn pool in my backyard if I have to. It was always the plan.

Note to self—add pool fencing in case we end up with kids.

Her dad’s place isn’t far from the vineyard, though I know she would never have found it the day she was lost. She still uses GPS to get around Napa, and in her defense, these roads are screwy.

When I pull up to his atrocious, modern, wannabe mansion, I spot Tilly’s car in the driveway, but I already knew it would be here. The driveway is otherwise vacant, so it’s a toss-up on who may be home.

A young, blonde woman answers the door, and I know she must be Tilly’s ‘stepmother.’ She’s not naturally blonde, judging from her dark roots, and her face is unnaturally inflated like Adri’s. But Adri went to a better plastic surgeon in San Diego. Her stepmom looks older than me, but I’m actually four years older.

“Are you Enzo?” she asks with a faint laugh.

“Uh, yeah. Is Tilly here?” I ask.

“No, she’s on a run. That girl’s always running.” My shoulders slump, but I recover my poker face.

It’s way too hot out to be running.

I reach into my pocket and pull her iPod out. “She left this at my place last night… on her nightstand.” I choose my words to elicit a reaction. Mom might have been right that I always had a way of stirring the pot.