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Pretty sure it is, but not your wifely duty, Lennon.

Flustered by my inner thoughts, I move past him. “Yeah, then uh…you should do that.”

“Turn the Nashville Lightning game on, will you?” he asks as he reaches in to turn the shower on.

“Sure thing.”

Racing down the hall like my pants are on fire, I find the remote and flip the TV on while I will my heart rate to calm down.

Groaning, I slap my palm to my face with embarrassment and then make my way back to the dining room table where my books are spread across the surface. I dive right back into my study guide, so immersed that I barely notice Easton when he enters the room—shirtless.

Jesus Christ. Just add fuel to the fire, why don’t you, Easton?

My stomach growls, pulling his attention from the other side of the kitchen.

“Was that you?”

I can feel my cheeks turn red. “Yes, unfortunately. I’m hungry, even though I just got sick. But nothing sounds good right now.”

Easton hums as he opens the fridge, scanning the shelves before poking his head around one of the doors. “What about a grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Oh.” My stomach growls again. “Actually, that doesn’t sound half bad.”

“Perfect. Two grilled cheeses coming right up.”

“I only need one…”

He arches a brow at me. “The other one is for me, Lennon.”

“Ha. Right.”

I watch him move around his kitchen instead of focusing back on my books. This isn’t the first time Easton has cooked for me, but it is the first time he’s done it shirtless, and I am having the hardest time looking away.

Especially from his back—the way the muscles roll under his skin, the way his biceps and shoulders flex every time he picks something up.

I’m so lost in watching him that when he moves toward me with the sandwich, I have to blink myself out of the trance.

“Bon appétit.” He sets a plate down in front of me with a perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwich.

My mouth instantly waters. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I hope the baby doesn’t reject it.”

I take a bite of the sandwich, close my eyes, and moan as the butter and cheese hit my tongue.

“Oh God, that’s good.”

Easton clears his throat, and when I open my eyes, I see him reach down and adjust himself—but there’s girth in his pants now that wasn’t there before.

Wait. Is he hard?

“Did you just…” I instantly regret voicing that question out loud when his gaze locks on mine.

“Did I just what?”

I lift my sandwich back to my mouth. “You know what? Never mind.”

“I told you to stop doing that,” he says, a hint of command in his voice. “Just say what you want to say, Lennon.”