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My body doesn’t ache as I move, and with it comes the reminder of what we did last night. The massage. The relief. The smile forms before I can stop it as I put my feet to the floor and reach for my fluffy robe. I turn my head from side to side and feel like I have greater range of motion thanks to Sunny’s magic hands.

Sunny is standing at my kitchen counter in his jeans, zipper half done, opening and closing drawers. There’s something utterly enchanting about the way his shoulders fit in my small kitchen, and I watch his Iron Outlaws tattoo shift as the muscles beneath it flex and relax.

“Get your ass over here and kiss me,” he says before turning, and who am I to not comply?

He tugs me to him by the lapels of my robe, almost stretching me onto the tips of my toes. And he kisses me in a way that is utterly incongruent with a simple breakfast before we start our day. It speaks to manhandling and, well, penetration.

With that delicious cock of his.

But just as I think he might take me right here in the kitchen, he stops. “I can’t find your frying pan.”

“Frying pan?” I ask, totally discombobulated.

Sunny runs his thumb over my lower lip. “Yeah. Skillet. Cast iron pan you can make an omelet in.”

“I know what a frying pan is, Sunny,” I say.

He grins, like he knows exactly why I was confused, for a second.

I point to the cupboard to the left of the oven. “That one, there.”

Sunny sighs. “Fuck, you’re pretty in the morning.” Then, he goes to grab the pan like he didn’t just ambush me with the sweetest compliment.

I’m still standing there like a fool when Sunny stands with the pan in his hand. “Found it,” he says, then, he notices me. “You okay, Indy?”

I try to think of the right words to say, but I just bite down on my lower lip and shrug.

He puts the pan down. “Ah. I get it. Sweet words. You’re not used to ‘em. And to be fair, I’m not all that great at saying ‘em.”

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty good at it.”

“Can’t remember where I saw it, but something said all women want to be looked in the eyes, have her cheeks caressed, and be told to take her panties off. Figured I could do those three things. Didn’t say anything about sweet talkin’.”

I step up onto my toes. “I have three things for you. One, what you just said is utterly true. Two, I’m not wearing panties. And three, I really have to leave for work soon.”

Sunny tips his head back and groans. “You’re killing me, Indy. Go get ready. I’ll shout when your eggs are done.”

Ten minutes later, we’re both seated on the stools at my kitchen island. The fried eggs Sunny made are perfectly cooked. I hate slimy egg white. It’s my most hated thing, but these aren’t slimy at all.

“You mentioned your mom,” I say, carefully. “If it’s okay to talk about her, are you still in contact with her?”

Charmingly, Sunny dips a perfectly cut strip of toast into his egg yolk. “It’s okay to ask about her. And I guess you’d say, we’re low contact. She shows up periodically, needing something, usually cash. Occasionally, she says she wants to get clean and I pay for her to try rehab. But she always bails. Then, I think she resents me sending her there.”

I place my hand on his back. “I’m sorry, Lucas.”

He lifts his chin to look at me. “I like that.”

“Your mom resenting you?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s the first time you’ve used my real name. Feels special between us.”

“You want me to call you Lucas instead of Sunny,” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Easy either way. Maybe save Lucas for moments like this. When it’s just you and me. Talking about deep things.”

I kiss his shoulder. “I can do that. I truly am sorry about your mom. Addiction is awful once it’s got you in its grip. I’m sure that made for an unpredictable childhood.”

Sunny sniffs and picks up his fork. “Yeah. It wasn’t great. But she’s my mom. I gotta do what I can to help her, right?”