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I also still want Vex.

That part is alarmingly straightforward.

I climb out of bed, change into a pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt, and make my way toward the kitchen.

Vex stands at the stove, making eggs and toast.

Barefoot. Gray T-shirt. Jeans sitting low on his hips. His hair is damp, and when he reaches into a cupboard, a strip of skin appears above his waistband.

I stop walking.

There ought to be a licensing requirement for men who look like this in kitchens.

He glances over his shoulder.

"Knee?"

"Good morning to you too."

His gaze travels down my bare legs before returning to my face.

"Morning."

The word sounds different after that look.

I sit before my legs become unreliable for entirely unrelated reasons.

Vex sets a mug of coffee in front of me, adds a splash of milk, and leaves the sugar beside it.

I watch his hand release the handle.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He gives me a long look.

"I'm appreciating the service."

"Tip's expected."

I nearly choke.

He turns back to the stove before I can decide whether he knows exactly what he's doing.

He absolutely knows.

"You're enjoying this."

"Little."

The eggs are good. The toast is properly buttered. Vex eats across from me with his hair damp, and I try to concentrate on my plate instead of picturing how it got that way.

Shower.

Water.

Shoulders.