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His lips almost part, and for a single, fleeting second, he looks proud.

Like I just hand-fed his ego and it tasted amazing.

But then he catches himself, scowling again. “So you kidnapped me because you think the flu is gonna… what? Wipe out civilization? And I’ll just… what? Help you suture wounds in the wasteland?”

“You’ve heard of preppers?” I ask, reaching for another fry.

“Sure. Doomsday nuts.” He snorts. “No offense. As far as preppers go, you’re a cute little nutcase.”

I pause, chewing. “That’s rude, Evan.” I swallow. “And why I’m leaving the door to the main bunker locked tonight.”

He lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh. “Right. I lost my treat privileges.”

I point at him with my fry. “Exactly.”

He shakes his head, half-smirking. “Jesus Christ.”

“As I was saying,” I continue, stretching out my legs, “Some preppers are very short-sighted when it comes to supplies.”

He leans back against the headboard, watching me, still toying with the restraint. “And what, exactly, did you stock up on that they didn’t?”

I grin. “People.”

He laughs. Deep and warm and fucking distracting. “I’m a fucking supply?”

“Literally and figuratively, depending on our chemistry,” I say, winking. “Which, spoiler alert, seems to be pretty damn good.”

His eyes darken for half a second, flickering low before he shakes his head.

“You’re not random,” I continue, popping another fry into my mouth. “There will be others.”

He lifts a brow. “Oh, so you’re collecting men with benefits to ride out the apocalypse?”

I tilt my head. “Why do you sound jealous?”

His scowl deepens.

I grin.

“So you nabbed a handsome doctor.” He says then leans forward, eyes locking onto mine. “Sexy firefighter on your list?”

I narrow my eyes. “Keep it up, and I’ll cuff you again.”

His mouth quirks, but his voice lowers, a little too amused. A little too dangerous. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “That sounds like a fucking challenge.”

God, I love him.

I clear my throat, ignoring the way I want to accept that challenge. “I didn’t pick you, or anyone else, because of your looks.” I wave a hand. “You have skills. You’re useful. Like my dried goods, you are essential to survival.”

His smirk widens. “I’m a bag of lentils?”

I smile, slow and dangerous. “Oh, baby.” I reach out, trailing my fingers under his jaw, watching the way his throat bobs. “You’re my favorite bag of lentils.”

His breath catches. And for a single, dangerous second, I swear to god he likes it.

“Seriously,” Evan says, voice low, steady.

And when I glance up, he looks serious.