Page 79 of Big Dick Energy

This felt easy.

Not the fake-marriage-for-PR-purposes kind of easy. The real kind. The kind where I could picture doing this every morning for the rest of my life—her at my island, me making inappropriate comments, Ricky providing running commentary in barks and sighs.

“You know,” I murmured against her skin, having migrated back to that spot on her neck that made her breath catch, “we could skip the podcast prep entirely. Stay in bed all day. Order takeout.”

Karen made a disgusted sound and jumped off the counter, apparently having heard enough.

She turned her head, and suddenly our faces were inches apart. Her eyes, bright and knowing, searched mine. “You're in a mood this morning.”

“I'm in a great mood. Exceptional mood. Best mood of my life, possibly.”

“And that has nothing to do with the fact that you got laid twice?”

“It has everything to do with that,” I admitted freely. “But also...” I paused, not sure how to explain how I was feeling. “I like this. Having you here. In my kitchen. Wearing my shirt. Looking like you belong.”

Ricky chose that moment to stand up on his hind legs, front paws braced against Davina's calf, demanding to be picked up. She obliged, scooping him into her arms where he immediately snuggled against her chest and shot me a look of pure triumph that said; She's mine. I was here first.

“Your dog is gloating at me.”

“He's not gloating. He's... okay, he's gloating a little.”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, her usual defenses dropped. Ricky must have sensed it too, because he stopped his victory stare and nuzzled closer to her neck.

“Dallas...”

The doorbell rang.

We both froze.

Ricky's head whipped toward the sound, and he launched into full defensive mode, his barks echoing through the kitchen with enough force to make the windows rattle.

“ARF ARF ARF ARF ARF!”

Karen came tearing back into the kitchen from wherever she'd retreated to, fur puffed, looking deeply offended.

“Are you expecting someone?” Davina asked, raising her voice over Ricky's alarm system.

“No.” I frowned toward the front of the house. “You?”

“I don't live here.”

“Yes, you do.”

The doorbell rang again. Ricky's barking reached a pitch that probably registered on seismographs.

“Maybe it's a delivery,” I said, already moving toward the door.

“At nine in the morning?”

“Amazon waits for no man.”

I padded through the living room, suddenly very aware that I was shirtless and wearing only basketball shorts. Whatever.

Ricky was now running circles around my ankles, determined to be the first line of defense against whatever threat lurked beyond the door.

I pulled it open.

And my brain short-circuited.