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“I’m sure he’ll love it, Grey. You’re a good dad.” I don’t miss the wince that crosses Grey’s face as he walks to the bar.

“Want a drink, angel?” he asks as he starts to rifle through the liquor bottles.

I smile because even after the shocking events of the day, he still keeps to our nightly routines. “I think finding out you have a son with a gorgeous French blonde warrants a drink if nothing else does. Better make it a strong one.”

Again, his face twists with a strange expression, but he shakes it off as he pulls out two martini glasses, vodka, and coffee liqueur. “I need to make a few double shots of espresso in the kitchen. You can look in the brown paper bag—it’s for you.”

Since the last surprise he got me was nipple piercings, I approach the paper bag warily. The moment I pull therectangular box out of the bag, the delicious smell of yeast and oil sends my mouth watering. I lift the lid and find a dozen donuts dripping with a decadent layer of glaze and begging to be stuffed into my mouth right now.

Grey walks back into the room with the espresso, and I stare up at him in surprise.

“You got me donuts,” I accuse, suddenly feeling very emotional over such a small gesture. But with Grey, no gesture is ever really small. He puts care and detail into everything he does—even something as simple as getting me the last snack I asked for when life went to hell, just like it did again today.

“They’re the shittiest chain donuts imaginable because that’s all that was open this late,” he answers gruffly, trying to brush aside how thoughtful he was.

“I love shitty chain donuts.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I thought you might.”

I walk to the bar and wrap my arms around his neck, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” he hums with his mouth a few inches from mine. I can smell the faint hint of whisky on his breath.

I shoot him a scolding look. “Did you sneak a drink in the kitchen before coming up?”

“Just a little one,” he admits, an incorrigible grin on his face.

“The Aurélie story must be pretty bad then.”

He pours himself a shot of vodka and downs it in one gulp. “You have no fucking idea.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better, but I put on a brave face anyway. “Well, we have donuts and alcohol to get us through it. So put some liquor in me, chef. Let’s get this bitch started.”

Grey mixes a batch of espresso martinis and pours us each a full glass. I carry the donuts to the couch and grab a couplebefore setting the box down beside me. He carries over the martinis, fixing me with a dubious look when he sees I’m about to ruin his velvet sofa with donuts. And he can get the fuck over it.

“Trade,” I demand, offering him a donut in exchange for a glass. “Cheers.” I tap my donut against the side of his before going to dip mine into the coffee-flavored cocktail.

“For the love of God, donotdunk that donut,” Grey commands, looking like he’s about to knock the damn thing out of my hands.

“Why?” I ask, my donut hovering over the edge of my glass.

We all have cardinal sins when it comes to food. I’m shocked to discover something as simple as dunking is his. Mine is ketchup. It belongs nowhere near eggs, fries, or any protein whatsoever. Tomato chutney, sure. Hogao, delicious. Tomato ketchup made with pureed tomatoes blended with corn syrup and a bunch of other shit? Get the fuck out of my kitchen.

“Because it’s disgusting.” He demolishes his own donut in two large bites before grabbing another from the box between us. “Why would you want to eat a soggy mess?”

“Because it’s delicious,” I argue with a playful smirk right before dunking. I plop the coffee and liquor-soaked bite into my mouth, moaning extra loudly in enjoyment just to annoy him. I dunk again, and I swear he growls in response. “I’ll fight you on it,” I warn him with my mouth still full.

“I’m not in the fighting mood tonight,” he sighs. “But I’ll hold a grudge for later. Expect to get a spanking tomorrow night.”

“For dunking a donut?”

“For making reprehensible food choices.” He plucks what’s left of the donut in my hand and shoves it into his mouth so he doesn’t have to watch me drown it in my martini. “You should know better, chef.”

I snatch another from the box and continue to eat it exactlyhow I like it. Because no one tells me what to do with my food. “I will gladly take a spanking to have this delicious,soggy messin my mouth.”

“I would be happy to fill your mouth with somethingelsethat’s delicious and dripping wet.”

I smack my palm against his chest. “Don’t you dare start. You’ve already distracted me with snacks and alcohol—you don’t get to use your cock to get out of this conversation.”