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So that we can both stop thinking about your dick, I silently answered. Which he damn well knew. Out loud, I said, “It would be rude if I didn’t. She was always nice to me.”

Seb grunted noncommittally. He would never say as much outright, but I wasn’t what either of his parents wanted for him. Once, when I casually mentioned over coffee that I wasn’t sold on kids, Kathleen left the room in tears.

“And how is your brother?” I continued.

“Rhett is great.” There was genuine warmth and affection in Seb’s voice when he talked about his younger brother, a bush pilot for the National Park Service. Rhett had never borne the brunt of their parents’ expectations, thanks to a congenital heart defect that kept him from military service. “You barely missed him in Yellowstone, actually. Something about a bear…I should call him.”

Seb worked the conditioner through my strands, then followed it with a wide-tooth comb to detangle the snarls. “How is your mom? Is she still working at the hospital, or did she finally retire? I can’t imagine her slowing down. She’s so—” His voice died as his thumb grazed the circle of puckered skin on my shoulder.

He’d found the cigarette burn.

“Lila.”

I closed my eyes at the helpless fury in his voice. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.”

“It’s not okay. But it will be.” His mouth replaced his thumb. His lips moved as he pressed his next words to my skin like a vow. “Because I’m going to kill him.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I protested. “Washing my hair was enough.”

I sat cross-legged on the bed, wrapped up in my fluffy white robe, watching Seb—who was regrettably now fully dressed in the sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt he had worn to bed last night—fill his palm with mousse.

“Stop whining.” He slowly pressed his hands together, squishing the mousse between them, then pulled them apart again, squinting at the white goop like it baffled him. “Interesting.”

I swallowed a laugh. “Okay, now⁠—”

“I know what to do. I’ve watched you plenty of times.”

It used to be our Sunday night ritual. I’d wash my hair, then we’d put on some music and have a glass of wine while I spent the next twenty minutes scrunching product into my curls so they would air-dry properly. We’d talk about nothing and everything and inevitably end up naked again.

Seb lowered to his knees, putting us at eye level. I rolled my lips together, staring directly at his chin as he pushed his hands into my hair on either side of my head, then dragged them through my curls. His chin might be the only square inch on his entire body that I didn’t have strong feelings about and—oh, god. Why did everything feel so much better when he did it? Snacks, haircare, orgasms⁠—

“You can moan if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, but then he gave my hair an extra tug and the moan fell right out of me. “Asshole.”

“I love it when you talk sweet to me,” he teased.

I laughed in spite of myself.

He smirked and palmed my curls, scrunching them in his fist before releasing them. His smirk faded to an expression of utmost concentration as he alternated between scrunching and twisting locks around his finger like a curling iron. That was Seb. It didn’t matter if it was rescuing a reporter taken hostage or shaping my hair into perfect curls. Everything he did, he gave his all.

It was adorable and so sweet my teeth ached. His face was so close to mine that if I leaned forward a very little bit, my mouth might accidentally touch his.

Not an appropriate thought to be having about my ex-husband. Horniness was one thing; anyone would be tempted by Seb. But this soft, tender feeling blooming in my chest was unacceptable.

“We’re good,” I said, leaning away from him. “It can air-dry the rest of the way. I should get dressed.”

“All right. I’ll get dinner started.”

He pushed to his feet, and I reached under my pillow for my sleeping T-shirt. It wasn’t there. Frowning, I lifted the pillow to double-check. Nope.

“Looking for something?” Seb asked.

“My T-shirt, the one I sleep in. It says Best Big Brother on it.” I lifted the blanket, just in case. “Have you seen it?”

“Threw it in the hamper with the other dirty clothes.” He pulled open the middle drawer of his dresser, took out a dark blue T-shirt with NAVY across the chest in big yellow letters, and tossed it to me. “Here, you can wear one of mine.”

I wrinkled my nose. I really didn’t want to do that. It would smell like him. But then, so did the bed, and he would be sleeping in that bed right next to me, smelling like himself. There was no escape for me. I sighed.