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And he was right. Put into perspective, I could see it.

I felt better about it, but in the back of my mind, there was still a feeling of dread. It was only day two and I was alreadythinking about how I didn’t want to go home. Not because of Mark. Not even because of the cheating.

What was I going to do when I didn’t have access to Sam anymore?

What was I going to do without his version of care that I hadn’t even earned, but he freely gave?

He made things feel safe without being soft. Solid without suffocating me.

I’d never had anyone feed into me like he did—quietly, consistently, without needing a thank you or a performance.

He didn’t ask for anything, but still made me feel like everything I had to give mattered.

I swear, he was like… like some kind of human charger. Every time he looked at me, touched me, listened—he was topping me off again.

What was I gonna do when the battery ran out and I couldn’t plug back into this man?

Because at some point, we had to separate.

At some point, I’d have to go back to my real life.

But right now, wrapped in the warmth of his couch, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my leg,

I would just let myself feel the full force of him.

Chapter 12- Sam

By day three of playing roommates, it was obvious we were already too comfortable with each other.

We were laid out in the living room, both in pajamas, too full from the meal she’d made to move. My stomach had a little roundness to it now—proof of the damage we’d done on the peach cobbler, baked mac, and something she calledsmothered happiness—which was basically steaks drowned in gravy. I’d inhaled it like I hadn’t eaten in days. I was positive I’d gained at least five pounds since she started using my kitchen to express her love language.

We hadn’t brought up our spouses since the beach. Neither one of us answered our phones. It was like nothing existed outside of these walls.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, head tipped lazily toward the ceiling fan. Her hair was smoothed down on her head in little waves. She looked pretty. Simple. She yawned, stretched, then looked up at me with that glint she got in her eyes sometimes when she was about to do or say something mischievous.

Nah, I didn’t like that word because she was a grown woman. I rephrased my thought. Zane looked like Sunday school, but there was a little hell in her too, and she got this look…

“Let me hit it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

She pointed to the blunt in my hand. “That. Let me hit it.”

I laughed. “Absolutely not.”

She pouted. “Why not? I like trying new things with you.”

Her saying that made my heart feel funny, but it was still a no for me. I couldn’t deal with another night of her acting up—getting naked or touching me. My patience was already thread-thin. I was about to fuck Mark’s wife.

“You can’t hold your liquor, and I’m not giving you weed. This is Gelato 41. It’s strong. You told me you’ve never smoked before.”

She got up, crossed the room. She grabbed me by the ear like somebody’s mama, tugging hard enough to make me try and pry her off. Her other hand pressed into my chest for balance, her thigh sliding between mine, titties in my face.

“Gimme,” she giggled. Somehow, she got me in a headlock—probably because I was trying not to drop my blunt. She was warm and wild in my arms, giggling like a woman with no idea how good she felt.

My dick was the first to react. My brain came in second. She ended up damn near straddling me again by the time she yanked it from my fingers. I let her have it.

“Feral child,” I muttered, shaking my head.